The General Who Hates Me - Chapter 137: Love And Desire

“He who bears the light of heaven and the rage of hell shall decide the fate of gods and beasts alike.”When the world shattered and stars fell from the heavens in blinding storms, a child was born—cursed with the power to either end the eternal war or bridge the gap between heaven and hell.Now, hunted by gods and worshiped by shadows, he must choose which side of his soul will burn brighter - light of heaven or fury of hell.

Poison — a cold-blooded assassin, abandoned by his family and cast into the shadows of the underworld. He lived without purpose... until a supreme being took notice.Just like that, everything changed.---In a world of swords and magic, rumors spread of a strange, otherworldly café. A place where both mages and ordinary people can enter foreign realms, fight legendary battles, and return with enhanced magical power and understanding.But there’s one rule whispered by all who know of it:Never offend the owner.He may look lazy, uninterested, and far too calm...But those who challenge him are never seen the same way again.They become “special slaves” — forever bound by punishment and magic, trapped in service to a man far more terrifying than he appears.---He owns the café. He controls the worlds. And now, he’s just getting started.

Luo Yi had secretly loved Chu Chen for quite a while and discovered that Chu Chen seemed to really like. . .

Um. . . really like certain 18+ things. . .

So Luo Yi decided to follow Chu Chen’s lead and walked onto a path of being f*cked. . .

- 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.”