Cosmic Professional Gladiator - Chapter 459 - 459 Cosmic Criminals (1)

Born naturally defective but possessed by the spirit of a divine dragon. Inheriting the divine dragon’s will and power, growing scales and magical claws, imperial waters containing the breath of the dragon, travelling through clouds and summoning rain, an invincible physical body. In this world and era, countless men dream of slaying dragons. Li Mu Yang has always lived a hard life.

“I’m in desperate need of money to pay Grandmother's medical fee. I will marry Charles instead of Yvonne as soon as I get the money.”

When her sister Yvonne ran away from the wedding, Autumn was forced to pretend to be Yvonne and marry Charles. Her only wish was to get a divorce after a year. Charles is rich and powerful. His name had been linked to innumerable ladies. He had different girlfriends for every day of a year. Neither of them had expected that they would fall in love with each other.

She, a genius abandoned by her clan. He, a proud, pampered, two-faced imperial crown prince, a developing supreme ruler of the world. She, tricking him, disguised as a pig to eat a tiger, suppressing him, provoking him. Every time, after playing with him and stirring him up, she’d escape.

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.”