MTL - Demon Slayer: The Beginning of the Game Opens the Way of Reward for Diligence - Chapter 29

How long can one ignore the voices in their head?Nine years. To Mark, that was the limit.For the majority of his life, Mark White has been fighting a constant battle for his sanity. The voices in his head pushed him toward madness one whisper at a time, and the music he used to ward against them was gradually losing its effects.As his mental state slowly deteriorated, Mark spent more of his time working on a game he had been developing and lamenting his lack of romantic experience.One night, the voices dealt him a powerful blow, bringing their battle to an end. To his surprise, Mark won the battle, but that came at a great cost.The voices might have disappeared, but a visual hallucination arrived to replace them, taking the form of a character from his game: Maids VS Apocalypse. Little did he know that the real apocalypse was already coming for him.

A person who lived the life to the maximum even being a person with paralysis, always played his favorite sport basketball, even if alone, follow the story of Jake Smith to be happy with a second chance.

“Was trying to forget my past and live a peaceful life… a mistake?”His twentieth birthday was supposed to be a celebration, not his final moments—bleeding out on a bed, betrayed, and left to die.'Taking the life of a ‘good’ person makes you a murderer, but taking the life of a ‘bad’ one makes you a savior… Why?'As death embraced him, he whispered his final words—“The world’s kindness, right till the end..”…Only to wake up in an unfamiliar body.“Wait… I’m Noir Ravenlock?”A doomed heir, born to rule the world yet bound to a fate engraved with blood.In a world where morality shapes strength, survival demands more than just power—it demands understanding.And Noir, a man or perhaps a demon who once saw the world through twisted eyes, may just see something no one else can.

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”