My Journey to Immortality Begins with Hunting - Chapter 013 - Are You Sure You’re Not Losing It?

[Ding! Your new life has started. Stats have been reset. Potential has been recalculated. Your new journey has begun][Ding! Awkenining God's Blood. Your new body has the potential to become a God.]______Emperor Fenrir was hailed as the tyrant of power had everything a human could desire. Power, wealth and even people who looked up to him. However, despiute having it all, he lacked the most crutial thing needed for him to advance to a God - the blood of Gods that would break the last barrier for him.To overcome this weekness, Emperor Fenrir decides to restart his life by getting reborn into a body had has the highest amount of God's blood and would allow him to fulfil his goal. And finally, after a thousand years of waiting, he finally found the body he had been waiting for.What he did not expect was for the previous owner of his dream body to be a looser who had noting except money to call as a power. The pampered young master Fenrir got reincarnated to was the lowest of the low scums who depended on hs money to solve all his problems.However, now that Fenrir was here, this was all going to change. The world will see the rise of the tyrant once more...and a god as well.______r18 is mainly gore...and MC's tendencies. You have been warned. No Harem. No Romance.

[Can the devil’s music bring happiness to the world?]From Jimmy Hendrix to Rachmaninoff, all the historical musicians who he meets in his dreams.The devil that presents itself as a little boy in love with singing.The devil’s blessing, given to such a tiny child.In the blessings of many devils,The boy’s song for the world begins.

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.”