Reincarnated With The Van Helsing System - Chapter 543 The Distorted Land Above The Sky

WARNING: MATURE CONTENT!Ahmet's laughter was like a slap in the face. “You think you're in a position to negotiate with me?” he sneered. “I don't think so, Asli. You'll do what I say, or suffer the consequences. Do you want more time to outsmart me? No.”She could play his game. She certainly could do that before she finally killed him. A mischievous grin formed on her lips. “What would you gain from sleeping with me?” she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral. “You're not exactly known for your romantic conquests. And we're rivals, not to mention the fact that our families would kill us if they found out.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “So, what's the real motive here? What could you possibly gain from this?”There was a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, Asli wondered if she had caught him off guard. But then, Ahmet's smooth voice came back, dripping with confidence. “I’m glad to know you are well-informed about my romantic conquests. Let's just say, Asli, that I have my reasons. And as for what I'd gain… well, that's for me to know and you to find out.” His tone sent a shiver down her spine, and she knew she had to tread carefully. She wasn’t going to win this against him.“Show me what proof you have and I will give in to your demands.” With that, she hung up the call, feeling a small sense of satisfaction at being the one to end the conversation this time. She was the only woman in the male-dominated Mafia world. Did he think he could subdue her so easily?

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.

She was a peerless genius in the 24th Century – all she needed was a silver needle and she could practically bring anyone back from the dead.