Night of the Broken Gliph - Chapter 154

The fallen ones, strange monsters that showed up on earth with the sole purpose of destroying everything and ruling over humans.Only one man remained during the onslaught, his name, was Rashin Montero.“Do you wish to live or die?”The question appeared before him.“Kill me assholes!”He died.A hundred years passed and Rashin finds himself alive in the future.It turned out he was saved by a stray angel, and was granted a powerful energy that allowed him to stand on equal footing with the monsters that once wanted to take over earth.In his new future, the world has been restored to what it ones was, a huge shield was placed around the world to keep the Hakiaas out.Heroes were summoned to defend the world against these monsters during the Countdown, while the monsters could not be killed or harmed, they could still be sent back to their world.Or at least, until Rashin arrived.[Blacksmith System activated. Welcome host.][Initializing core functions... Complete.][Congratulations, you have gained a new blue paint (Large sword.)][Stella blade has passed all requirements to evolve.][Evolving to human form can now be processed.][Congratulations, you have gained a unique core, your weapons can now undergo fusion.]Having a system that allowed him to craft weapons of all kind, Rashin enters this new world trying to survive while also remembering part of his memories.Not just that, he can also turn every weapon he makes into beautiful overpowered maidens capable of killing the Hakiaas aka fallen ones.

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When a person dies, they either die light as a feather (aka unimportant) or heavy as Mt. Tai (aka very important).

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.”