Mrs Hale, I Surrender - Chapter 125 Actively Kiss Me, Do You Like It A Bit? (2 More Updates)

An infamous playboy, killed by a former lover, inexplicably awakens to discover himself transmigrated into a NTR manga, assuming the role of the antagonist - Alex Smith. Propelled by a mysterious system that magnifies his skill in captivating women, he holds the power to seduce the women that belong to the various “main characters“.

【Ding! The Queen of Hearts System has awakened.】

【Overall goal: Steal all the heroines from the various main characters across the world.】

【Reward: God Status.】

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[Congratulations. You have met the requirements to become a Cursed One! Your fate has been changed!]What did it mean? Ragna was a transmigrator, reborn into this world as a Cursed One. But what was a Cursed One, they were the demon spawsns aclaimed to be the son's of the devil himselfA black screen with white text appeared before him, and he felt a sense of trepidation.[ Request Accepted ][ Status Screen Unfolding ]Character Name: Ragna RingwoodTitles: Cursed OneAge: an hour oldSex: MaleRace: UnknownLevel: 0Exp:0/100HP: 5/10[Attributes]Mana: 10Strength: 10Agility: 10Vitality: 10Mana Sense: 10Bloodline: (Unknown)???????Skills: NoneRagna's eyes widened as he stared at the screen. He was a Cursed One, with unknown abilities and powers. The thought sent a surge of excitement through him.

Gods and demons are everywhere in the Grand Desolate World.

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.”