The Hidden Heiress Is a Secret Big Shot - Chapter 98: The Person Who Comes Across the Romantic Encounter

Reborn, Chu Feng has got his system before the resurgence of Evil Spirits in full swing with the help of his past life's memories, and immediately travels to the origin country of this event--America.“Ding! Congratulations, host, for killing an Evil Spirit, you will receive the following rewards:1. Strength Attribute 4 points, Physique Attribute 4 points, Mental Attribute 3 points, Spiritual Power Attributes 10 points2. Lifespan 1 year3. ......”

Gods and demons are everywhere in the Grand Desolate World.

Before I woke up, I had a dream about the end of the world. At first, it felt like a vivid nightmare that left me shaken. But as I slowly woke up, I realized that the dream was the pre-ending scene of my own novel.I am Zio Varrez, an unnamed character in my own book, and to my disappointment, an extra. As I lived in my novel's world, I couldn't help but feel that my existence was meaningless. But what made it worse was the fact that the ending of my book was the end of the world - a bad ending.I knew I had to do something to become strong enough to change the world's fate, even if it meant altering the story I once knew completely. Little did I know, there was more to this world than I realized, and the journey I was about to embark on would uncover secrets that I never even imagined.“I thought I knew everything about the world, but as I lived and experienced it, I realized there was so much more to it than I ever imagined.”

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.”