Consuming Earths, Devouring Skies - Chapter 61 What's Below?

A war veteran and an anime fan as well, he got into anime by watching it with his grandson after his retirement, his grandson loved pokemon and so did he also came to like this world of pokemon where people didn't kill each other and people used to have fun with there pokemon, after watching Pokemon with his grandson and playing with him all day he got back his childhood which he could never experience due to the cruel war, and as of now our MC has turned 82 years old he was very satisfied with his life with no regrets and waiting for death to take him away but will death be is end or will it start a new beginning, a new legend.

High school student Misumi Makoto is called into a fantasy world by the god Tsukuyomi, in order to be a hero. However, the Goddess ruling the world isn’t as thrilled to have him there, and kicks him to the edge of the world. Tsukuyomi declares that Makoto is free to find his own way after Makoto is abandoned by the other Goddess.

I just woke up and the beautiful disciple was feeding me medicine. I drank it without any precautions. As a result, when the beautiful disciple came out, I scrolled through my memory and found out...Oh my god, I traveled to another world and became the Supreme Pontiff of the Qian Xunji Spirit Hall?!In the beginning, I encountered a situation where Tang Hao seriously injured me and Bibi Dong was going to kill me in revenge.Fortunately, I activated the Villain Douluo System. As long as I make the righteous miserable, I can continue to become stronger.Tang San, Yu Xiaogang, Tang Hao... your nightmare is approaching.

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.”