MTL - Interstellar Spell Carder - Chapter 93 big change

Warning: Dark Romance!In the heart of Upper Ville lies a cursed werewolf pack, haunted by the Moon goddess herself. Isabella Ferris, a reckless and wolfless omega, yearns for an alpha mate who will bow to her every whim. But fate has other plans when she crosses paths with Razor King, the feared, cruel, and domineering alpha of the Bloody Skull pack, whom everyone bows to. Forced into marriage by a dark bargain, Isabella is thrown into the brutal world of werewolves and Mafia power struggles.

She, a genius abandoned by her clan. He, a proud, pampered, two-faced imperial crown prince, a developing supreme ruler of the world. She, tricking him, disguised as a pig to eat a tiger, suppressing him, provoking him. Every time, after playing with him and stirring him up, she’d escape.

A millennium had passed, and everything had lost its meaning in his eyes. Many heroes emerged from generation to generation, but he stood the test of time. That was his life, waiting for someone to come along and defeat him, but no one did. Nobody dared. Nobody tried.How can he allow this to happen? With the aid of his magic, he rose from his throne and set out into another world in search of excitement and, perhaps, a worthwhile adventure.What would happen if this last boss decided to venture into the human world for fun?

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.”