Undead Mage: I Have a Skeleton Clone - Chapter 508 - 365: Massively Inflated Physique, Skeleton Heart Slaying Spear! (Part 2)

Alexander was the greatest tyrant in history. His cruel, brutal and vicious reign struck fear in his enemies and allies alike. But that all ended when he was betrayed by his own people and beheaded by his archrival. As Alexander’s consciousness faded away all he could think of is all the faults he made, how he could have avoided them, how unlucky he had been, and his wrath and unwillingness to die at the hands of the man he hated most! But unexpectedly he was given not only the answers to these questions, but also a second chance to right all his many wrongs.

Shen Yu's world is facing the apocalypse. With the help of his Gray Mist Space, he could do good things such as saving lives to gain more gray mist and use it to do everything he wants to do. And what's more, no one but him can survive in the Space. However, this time, two figures walk out of the Space, and when they spin around, Shen Yu is shocked, because the two figures are all him from different worlds.“Your world is facing an apocalypse too?”“Indeed.”

Before his death, he was the only sword cultivator in the whole world, who dedicated his entire life to the path of sword immortality.

When he opened his eyes again, the world had completely changed. He began to cultivate the path of sword immortality again, slaying the heavenly way, shattering the universe with his will, and achieving the realm of sword immortality!

- 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.”