Rebirth: I Became Mr.President's Beloved - Chapter 250: Attending the Awards Ceremony

A necromancer and a saint blessed by the Constellations. That’s me.

“I, Logan Carter, Alpha of the Crescent Moon Pack, reject you, Emma Parker of the Crescent Moon Pack.”I could feel my heart breaking. Leon was howling inside me, and I could feel his pain.She was looking right at me, and I could see the pain in her eyes, but she refused to show it. Most wolves fall to their knees from pain. I wanted to fall to my knees and claw at my chest. But she didn’t. She was standing there with her head held high. She took a deep breath and closed her wonderful eyes.“I, Emma Parker of the Crescent Moon Pack, accept your rejection.”When Emma turns 18, she is surprised that her mate is the Alpha of her pack. But her happiness about finding her mate didn't last long. Her mate rejected her for a stronger she-wolf. That she-wolf hates Emma and wants to get rid of her, but that isn't the only thing Emma has to deal with. Emma finds out that she is not an ordinary wolf and that there are people who want to use her. They are dangerous. They will do everything to get what they want.What will Emma do? Will her mate regret rejecting her? Will her mate save her from the people around them?

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.”

Nine harmonic zither chords shook the universe, who dared to not acknowledge the lord?