This Japanese Monogatari Isn't Lame - Chapter 52. Shen Gu Mirai’s Opportunity!

“It’s finally here,” said the man with the sword in an echoing whisper.

“The Tower of Choice, the last 100 floors!” the band of five exclaimed in unison.

Angelica came down from the altar with a dull look, seemingly annoying.

Then we looked around.

“I tell you once again, but you’ve had a lot of trouble in the meantime. I couldn’t have climbed to the 100th floor alone without you.”

Thud!

One by one, they fall to the floor.

Angelica’s dagger pierced my neck, and I felt a darkening in front of my eyes with a tumultuous rage. My awareness faded, from my senses, from everything else. After that, everything was eroded by profound darkness.

Yang Feng somehow transmigrated into a different world and received a legacy of an ‘ancient high tech’ family, which does not directly raise his power, but gives him the technology to build things which are way more advanced than the seemingly medieval world.

Born and raised in a lab Tristan must figure out how to live and survive in the outside world. To make matters worse he has 4 others to look after. He's the oldest but is always being taken care of, to make sure his lab siblings want for nothing, Tristan will need to make a difficult decision. The goal is to provide for his siblings but he ends up living just like he was groomed to live. On top of everything else, there are four alphas who want to mate with him, and they don't mind sharing. Will Tristan accept his fate? Or will he runaway?

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.”