Moon’s Labyrinths - Chapter 342

Tian Han was a young boy who admired immortals. His dream had always been to become like them—flying on swords, using spells. But he was just an ordinary village boy, and he didn't have much of a chance for that. So, he always read books about immortals, and his admiration for them grew more and more every day. One day, he heard that he had a chance to become an immortal.“You can become immortal.”This was the sentence where his adventure began. Yes, he could become an immortal. And so, his journey started, and he found himself in the ruthless world of immortals.

“Is Fate the excuse of the forsaken, is Free Will the delusion of the chosen?”Such was a question that Xavier, the Demon King, never had the chance to ask himself. As he lay defeated, awaiting his death, he wondered about the wretched life he lived.'The hero who killed me, the one who held the same ambitions as me. We both wanted good for the people, for the world. We are both two sides of the same coin, yet, fate decided that he will be the one the light will shine on.Perhaps it was me too, perhaps it was my karma for flowing the rivers of blood with my sword. But still... It was fate that squashed the humanity in me first!Damn fate, if I had one more chance, I would've lived for myself more, I wouldn't have taken this arbitrary role of being a necessary evil... This world, this game of destiny... It can burn to ashes for all I care.'As he sunk into the cold embrace of death, a certain [REDACTED] heard his dying wish with amusement and cast their die, reversing the wheel of time one last time and going all in on him on a risky gamble with the stakes of their world.

After thousands of years of silence, the world of cultivation once again welcomed the golden age.

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.”