My autobiography is definitely not a tragedy! - Chapter 48 - 47: An Amateur Scientist

In the vast forests, towering mountains, and the wide seas, mythical creatures spread across the wide world. Some are large and terrifying, while others are small and gentle; half of them enjoy harming humans, while others wish to help them.No one knows exactly when they appeared. Some say they existed before the human race emerged, while others claim they appeared alongside the first humans in this world.Their forms and abilities vary, and different races deal with them differently. Some despise them and consider them monsters, while others revere them. Yet everyone agrees on one thing: it is best not to attempt to meddle with them.Everyone, that is, except for one person.

“It’s true… So why does no one believe me?”Sometimes, I play small pranks, but they’re really just small ones.I’m not the mastermind at all.

Anthony was an orphan and has been through the hard life filled with sufferingWorking twenty four hours a day with nothing to show for it.He prayed everyday for a better day but god seem to not hear himHe only read novels and other books in other to escape his harsh reality, because it was only in it he found solaceHe died one night on his way home from work after cursing god for the first time as a result of his frustration.He thought he would be heading to hell for cursing god.But a Unique being that even the universe couldn't fathom was intrigued with Anthony's soul.He decided to grant Anthony a wish after he had been through a hard lifeFollow Anthony as he vows to achieve whatever he couldn't in his past life.He shall stand above all with absolute powerAll tremble with just the mention of his name

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.”