Rebirth in the 90s: Melting My Devoted Mr. Iceberg - Chapter 886: Failure to Save the Dying

The absurd adventure story of Ian, a wizard in a medieval fantasy world.

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After you’re awake but find yourself looking like a character in a game and came to a strange place, is this a different world or a game? Is it a rebirth or a cross over to another world? Everything needs to be explored by yourself!

- Description from Novelupdates

Maria is a werewolf of the Veilwood Pack, where every woman is born with a gift. But with her twenty-first birthday drawing near and no ability to call her own, her family arranges a marriage that feels more like a cage than a future.On the run from a fate she refuses to accept, Maria narrowly escapes a predator who wants to claim her for himself. Shaken and desperate, she stumbles into the arms of another man whose eyes burn with recognition—her mate.But the predator is still out there, and he wants Maria just as much.Torn between the mate who awakens her heart and the danger that tempts her into the shadows, Maria finds herself desired by two men who will stop at nothing to claim her.Love, obsession, and destiny intertwine, and her choice could cost her everything.

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.”