MTL - Psychological Control - Chapter 27

Bai Xiao descended, lifting his head to not only see the bizarre and magnificent world but also the professional modifier he had downloaded before crossing over.“Drain all experience from my sub-occupations, 'Biological Mecha Master', 'Mystic Explorer', 'Special Hypnotist', transforming it into one million potential points, all enhancing my main occupation, 'Fighter'!”“I... have obtained the golden ultimate occupation, 'God of Martial Combat'!”The largest urban agglomeration in the world, a night of torrential rain.On the ground, countless Killing Ghosts and Fighters fought to the death, while hordes of metal Mechas and Biological Armors exploded and self-destructed. Blood and flame intertwined, plunging everything into primordial violence and chaos.Atop a high tower, Bai Xiao stood silently amidst the rainy darkness, like a stiff and terrifying statue. His crimson eyes looked down below, restrained yet bloody, cold yet hiding madness.He leaped down with his trench coat wildly dancing.The God of Martial Combat descended upon the final battleground!A cold voice echoed across the city skyline.“Next, I will kill everyone present! If you have the ability, try to stop me...”A modern city of extravagant luxury, an era of entertainment and consumption supreme.Beneath seventy years of peaceful façade, lied another mad and bloody Inner World.Fighters, masters of their martial traditions, and Killing Ghosts, controlled by combat modes, engaged in a frightful, relentless slaughter.Metal Mechas with terrifying energy and Biological Armors extracted from monstrous cells commenced a brutal struggle between old and new technologies.In this era infested with machinery and altered by external entities, to proclaim the power unique to humans might be an unimaginable romance...

Annan transmigrated to a new world – the Land of Dense Fog. He had become a rare elite NPC who possessed the player’s system.

However, he had the heart of a player.

I like to stir up matters, and unbridled. But, I’m a kind player. The ally of justice who is favored by this world.

I’m on a main mission. As the righteous player, I’m following my destiny to eradicate you, the evil NPC!

Dear player, I’d recommend you to stop running away. The mission is completed. I’m the righteous NPC now to punish you, the evil players…

—

In the long dark night, the crimson moon hangs high in the sky.

Hoarse whisper patrols the streets. The brass steam engine is emitting blood mist.

Your brain is in ecstasy; your eyes are enchanted.

With cracked skins, it sprouts new flesh.

In the gray mists, shirek cries come from the flesh wall that consumes thousands of corpses…

“Stop crying, our players don’t bite. They just want to play with you.”

The Solitary Schemer, Number 1 Player, Land of Dense Fog’s Savior, Leader of 13 Saints, Friend of 12 Upright Deity, Pioneer King, “The Righteous One,” Gatekeeper of Forth Disaster, Crownless Deity, the great Annan advised kindly.

This is my first original novel, it may be bad, but this is all in my mind and imagination. (Warning!! There will be an Incest genre) Thank you o⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o(oh yeah I forgot, this cover is not mine, I just edited it, if you feel you own it and don't like me using it, please tell me)

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.”