Eternal Reverence - Chapter 503: Black Flood Dragon’s Demonic Spirit

Tong, a sinner who was suffering endless torment in hell because of his mistake he had done in his previous life, was giving other chance to redeem himself by the devil.

A frail and often ill son of a wealthy merchant unexpectedly embarked on the path of cultivating immortality while seeking a way to prolong his life!During the Tang Dynasty’s Golden Age, the world was at peace, the climate was favorable, and the people lived in tranquility.One thousand years later, demonic beings devoured the sky, demonic ghosts rampaged, and sorrow-filled cries resonated everywhere.The Journey to the West reappeared, the Great Sage fought against the heavens, the Heavenly Stem descended to the mortal world, reincarnating anew.Mysterious transmigrations and reincarnations, reality and illusions intermingling, truly extraordinary!Is it just a dream predicted in the prophecy? Or a reality that has yet to occur?Can he eradicate the predestined demonic barrier, eliminate the catastrophes of the Three Realms that have yet to occur, and save the people from utter destruction?

After being set up and killed by her half-sister whom her ex-boyfriend had cheated with, Mu Siyin woke up one day to discover that not only was she alive, but she had traveled back in time to 2 years before her death.

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.”