MTL - Dressed As the Villain’s Mother - Chapter 45

#Forbidden Love, #Sweet, #Doting, #Sweet Revenge“Why can't they let me go? I have done everything for them! I sacrificed everything, and I gave them everything, even my own eyes... I betrayed the only person who ever loved me! Why are you doing this to me? Why do they have to do this to me? ” Zhou Yuxi, who was blind and crippled, crawled through the floor, she didn't know where to head or where to move to, but she was determined to crawl forward.She was determined to end this kind of life! She was determined to crawl to the end; she wanted to end all these miseries.“Just go on as you are going! Your end is just there... Just nearby, go on...” She could hear that voice that she wasn't familiar with and couldn't decipher if it was a female or male! But why was that voice telling her the end was just close by?Did this mean that she just needed to crawl forward, and she would get to the end?She struggled but kept moving until she felt she was at the edge of the unknown floor; she didn't stop but crawled forward, only to fall.“Nooooo! Don't...” She could hear that familiar voice trying to stop her but it was a tad bit too late. She opened her crippled hands trying to feel the fresh air.

Kiro is a slave branded with a deadly collar, forced to work in brutal mines under the ruthless Kargal Empire. Each year, slaves are hunted for sport in the deadly Hunting Games—a fight to the death on a savage alien moon. This year, Kiro is chosen to play. Sent into a wilderness filled with monsters and traps, survival seems impossible. But something ancient watches from the shadows—and it has plans for him.

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.”