Little Prodigal Alliance Head (and Cook) - Chapter 484

When he arrived in this world, many familiar stories had yet to begin: Sleeping Beauty had not yet been born, the magic lamp lay buried at the bottom of a treasure vault, Snow White’s father had just remarried, and the Little Mermaid was still playing in the sea with her sisters. In the heart of the desert, the Land of Oz had not yet welcomed the girl named Dorothy.Then he came—the wizard of miracles and wishes.…Many years later, even illiterate children knew his legend: If you find yourself in the darkest abyss or hold the most fervent desire, you might encounter a handsome boy cloaked in robes in a distant forest or lonely mountains.He is the omnipotent wizard, the all-knowing prophet, the sage revered by kings, and the mentor of legendary heroes. He gave Pinocchio life, granted the Little Mermaid an immortal soul, and heard the pleas of both princesses and beggars.Now, it’s your turn.

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.”

I am the sword.
Killing a man amidst a thousand miles, no one dares take ten steps.
Killing a man amidst a thousand miles, no one can take ten steps.
Killing a man amidst a thousand miles, ten steps? Not possible!
I am the sword, the sword is me,
On the path towards heaven, each shall wield their own.