MTL - The Cry of the Phoenix Which Reached the Ninth Heaven - Chapter 60 Head aura

Possessing the power of the demonic path, he follows a cultivation method that absorbs the essence of heaven and earth and seizes the spirit of all beings.Yet this power invites endless enmity, shunned by the heavenly way and despised by righteous sects. His sect is destroyed, and he barely escapes with his life.By chance, he acquires a mysterious blood mirror that opens a portal to an apocalyptic world overrun by zombies.On this world, he can freely sacrifice zombies without facing divine retribution; instead, he gains boundless merit and luck!Freed from the restraints of the heavenly way, his lifespan and cultivation soar to unimaginable heights, rivaling even the heavens.True demonic cultivation is not just the pinnacle of power—it is the path to defy fate and reshape destiny!

What if you woke up one morning and remembered all 999 of your past lives?

Chae Woojin, an actor who will shine brighter than the stars. A story about his journey towards his dreams!

“I beg you, please teach me how to pick up female angels!!!”
Pleaded the twelve-winged angel.

“Teacher!! How can I fool more people into my sect?”
Asked a devil in the devil world.

“Do you know how to save the family cat that died last night?”
Someone in the sky is too embarrassed and asks me quietly.

“All the angel, all the big deity, please I am not God, I am really just a summoner….”
I said painfully.

This is the story of a poor boy and how he becomes the greatest summoner who dominates the six worlds because of an accidental acquisition of Dimension.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”