Becoming a Monster - Chapter 483 - 482: Last Ditch Prayer

On the Great Land of China, forces clashed for the sake of supremacy and Bloodline Warriors ran amok; the conflict of the strong threatened to shatter heaven and earth. A young man named Lu Li—nothing more than a humble Coffin Carrier from the Northern Desert—came along with Lu Ling, his sister. The two were regarded as puny insects and bullied, but little did people know that Lu Li had the strongest Bloodline of them all in him.

Clara Vance had it all.Millions of followers, a beauty empire built on glamour, and a life curated for the camera. But a lost bet with her mother sends her away from a marvelous weekend trip to Mykonos and into the dusty attic of her family’s decaying ancestral manor.The catch was her inheritance. Her task? A dreary clear-out. Her discovery? A centuries-old diary belonging to her great-grandmother, Eleanor Thorne.The ink tells a story of a forgotten history. Eleanor’s forbidden obsession with her guardian and step-uncle, Casimir Guggenheim, a ruthless railroad tycoon with a heart of stone.But when Clara touches the tear-stained pages, the scent of crushed gardenias doesn’t just fill the room, it drags her back to 1879.Trapped in Eleanor’s corseted body, Clara finds herself under the roof of the very man who haunted the diary. To the world, Casimir is a cold, untouchable magnate. To Clara, he’s a puzzle she’s determined to break.The problem? Clara isn’t the timid, fragile girl Casimir remembers. She’s a 21st-century It Girl with no filter, a strategic mind for business, a total lack of respect for Gilded Age propriety and a defiance waiting for trouble to happen. While the original Eleanor was a victim of her station, Clara is ready to burn the cage down.As Clara navigates a world where a single misstep means ruin, scheming relatives see her as a pawn, and a powerful suitor sees her as nothing but a business merger. She realizes the history books were wrong.Rewriting Eleanor’s tragic end is dangerous, especially when she starts falling for the man she was never supposed to have.History says they’re a tragedy. Clara says history is about to get a makeover.

Xia Mi found himself transported into a classic JRPG game, becoming a villager in a beginner's village.His biggest wish was to save money and marry a woman from a different race as his wife, live a peaceful and worry-free life, and eventually pass away peacefully.One day, the heroes defeated the Demon King.[Name: Xia Mi][Profession: Villager]New addition: [Profession: Successor to the Demon King]“Quickly take action, Demon King! Kill all the heroes! Restore the glory of the demon race!”Wait, did something go wrong here?In the beginner's village, where Xia Mi spent his days farming and serving as a passer-by, he suddenly had an identity panel.But he was just a villager in the beginner's village!“Where is the Demon King? Where is the Demon King?”News of the Demon King's emergence spread across the continent, and every hero who came here to defeat the Demon King could see a constant stream of monsters in the beginner's village, but never caught sight of the Demon King.A villager from the beginner's village: Demon King? I'm just a villager. I have no idea what it is.

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.”