MTL - Shura’s Wrath - Chapter 41 Mental reflex (on)

One day, in front of my eyes appeared a silver-haired Goddess.

What kind of bullsh*t is this woman spouting?

“…What?”

No, I’m not.

In a supernatural infested world, we have the awakened- an elite group of people gifted with superpowers. And the transcenders- humans who consume divinity potions even at the risk of losing their sanity.And then, we have me who awakened with little to no prior memory of my past. Now trapped in a cursed, and wretched land infested with nightmarish creatures of all kinds.I; with the help of my latent time-rewind ability, the mysterious blue chaotic flame; alongside fragmented memories and unlikely allies made in the world of nightmares must find a way to escape to the real world.All while trying to keep in check a small yet dangerously fatal side effect.But the deeper I delve into this world’s horrors, the more I realized—I wasn't just running from the monsters around me. I was running from the one inside.Additional tags: Dark fantasy + Dark souls element, supernatural + psychological horror and finally:Mystery, tension and suspense + ground breaking lore and world building.

‘I must entertain the masses.’ This was Jester’s lifelong goal.After leading 12 different lives as a Hero, King, Sage, Jester, and more, all he wanted was to mock the king and his court.Unfortunately for him, his majesty didn’t appreciate his vicious jokes.Jester died, trying to flee for his life. But death wasn’t the end for him.For his 13th and last life, he triggered the Archetype System and reincarnated in a world of magic and perils.[This is your last life. Don’t waste it!][Welcome to the world of Archetypes!]Oh, before I forget, soon, players from Earth would flood into his new world.But even players won't escape from his clutches! Even people from the Earth will be tamed!

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.”