Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters - Chapter 1034 - 67: Vortex (Nine)_3

For He Gu, to be secretly in love is like a strong alcoholic drink. Obviously, once it flows into your system, dizziness, the loss of self-control and suffering will follow closely by, making it possible for anyone to be fatally attracted like moths to flames, and willingly endure the hardships.

While you made sure to not overdo it, I’ve become completely intoxicated…however, for every intoxicated feeling, you will inevitably wake up from it one day.

When Song Ju Han continued to act childish and recklessly destroyed He Gu’s tenderness for him, he had never imagined that the man has already been written into his destiny. Even more, he had never imagined that—the person brought to him by destiny—would one day want to escape…

When the cosmic tyrant Frieza detonated Planet Vegeta, home of the Saiyan race, a twist of fate sent a lone infant—placed in an escape pod by his mother—hurtling through the void toward an unknown destiny. The pod's trajectory led him to a desolate world: Titan, a planet ravaged by catastrophe and long stripped of life.Beneath the shadowed skies of this barren realm, the watchful eyes of Thanos, the self-appointed director of the universe's population balance, beheld an unexpected sight—a child, the sole survivor of Titan’s forgotten civilization... a child with a tail swaying behind him.“A survivor of Titan... From this day forth, you shall be my son.”

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.”