MTL - The CEO Is Cold During The Day, And Wants Kisses At Night! - Chapter 145 Call Shang Yinghan to ventilate the news

Jin Rou, the youngest Celestial King, was being restricted to go outside by his father for some reasons. Thus, Jin Rou was fed up.

And so, he made his ‘Grand Plan’ of running away.

On a normal evening, a voice appeared out of no where to give an announcement all over the world, this same evening was also when Dustin was run over by a car while running way from thugs.

Dustin however woke up unharmed, and learned that the world was about to go into ruins basically, and that some humans would be taken away in a few days as 'earth's warriors'.

As it would turn out, on the D-day, Dustin is one of those that were taken. But, this might turn out to be an opportunity rather than a curse, as some night before this day, something interesting happened.

[System activated]

[Starting assimilation... Complete]

[System online]

[Congratulations player for being the first to awaken. Rewards will be given]

It’s a story that happened long, long ago, in a continent far, far away, about gods and mortals, sword and magic, war and peace, and of course love and hatred.

Amon was a poor miner’s son in a remote town in the kingdom of Hittite. Along with the discovery of a marvelous gem, his fate was changed. People on this land called it Gods’ Tear. But wait, what were the gods? It was said that the gods created the world. Then who created the gods?

Forced by the tantalizing fate, Amon had to struggle to find out the truth behind this world of magic and gods……

- 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.”