Water Mage in the Flame Realm - Chapter 425 - 405: World Will (Part 2)

Gu Shanhai saw the great world of the heavens, and took the life of the third life.

The gods of the world forged an eternal Utopia with blood and fire.

The Red Dragon King led his knights to inspect the dynasty on which the sun never sets.

Scholars talked and laughed and swung their swords to draw thousands of miles of rivers and mountains, and strange demons opened their eyes and clawed to give birth to ghosts and monsters.

…

“Everyone is a player, you can’t call me abnormal because I don’t have digitization?”

- Description from novelbuddy

[Congratulations. You have met the requirements to become a Cursed One! Your fate has been changed!]What did it mean? Ragna was a transmigrator, reborn into this world as a Cursed One. But what was a Cursed One, they were the demon spawsns aclaimed to be the son's of the devil himselfA black screen with white text appeared before him, and he felt a sense of trepidation.[ Request Accepted ][ Status Screen Unfolding ]Character Name: Ragna RingwoodTitles: Cursed OneAge: an hour oldSex: MaleRace: UnknownLevel: 0Exp:0/100HP: 5/10[Attributes]Mana: 10Strength: 10Agility: 10Vitality: 10Mana Sense: 10Bloodline: (Unknown)???????Skills: NoneRagna's eyes widened as he stared at the screen. He was a Cursed One, with unknown abilities and powers. The thought sent a surge of excitement through him.

Chu Feng was transmigrated to a world of tamers, where everyone would gain their unique tamer talent at the age of 16. With the tamer talent, one could create a tamer space and form a contract with a beast.

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.”