Warlock of The Magus World (FanFiction) - Chapter 419

People in the World of Naruto: Drinking Makes You Stronger
 Author: Half a Piece of OrangeYouyu, a man who found himself transported into the Naruto world, awakened a rather unusual system:The more he drinks, the stronger he becomes!• Raikage: “What?! I have the strongest defense—wait, why did Youyu just slice through me while drinking?!”• Hiruzen Sarutobi: “That guy’s a monster. I’ve never seen him train, only drink... yet he still cut me down in an instant.”• Madara Uchiha: “Dancing? Tch. That drunk bastard swayed his way over and chopped me up!”• Obito Uchiha: “Damn it! Even space-time jutsu can’t stop that drunk maniac!”Youyu: “My hobbies? Drinking... and cutting people down.”

I spent my life playing a game.
I hit the wall, stuck in second place for the rest of my life.

Out of the blue, I received a message and was possessed by the game.
As the worthless son of an Underworld Boss!

“Yes, bloodline is also a power, as long as you can use it. My ability is ‘Famiglia’.”

The game addict never disappears. Overwhelming violence, endless wealth, connections in the other world. I, I’ll use anything to stay alive!

I didn’t know this was a world inside a game. And I didn’t know my master was a mid-boss. “No way… wasn’t she supposed to self-destruct because of her personality?!” …I’m sorry.

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.”