MTL - Apocalypse Summoner - Chapter 1622 Earth withered

Six years ago, the legitimate daughter of the Chu Family was schemed against by her half-sister and was forced to marry the Princely Heir, who was blind and not long for this world.Fortunately, her medical skills were excellent, and she detoxified the Princely Heir.Who would have thought after he came back to life, the emperor would actually want to bestow a concubine upon him—and this jerk didn't even refuse.Furious, she left a divorce letter and then set the Prince Residence on fire, fleeing in haste.Six years later, the same Princely Heir remained a lonely man, with all his old servants worrying their hearts out.One day, upon encountering a Little Baozi on the street who looked strikingly like the Princely Heir, they instantly burst into tears.“The Prince Residence has a successor! Princely Heir, please come back with us to the Prince Residence quickly.”Who knew, Little Baozi disdainfully said, “Not interested.”“Princely Heir, the Prince Residence is immensely wealthy...”“My mother is the wealthiest person!”“Princely Heir, the Prince Residence is extremely safe...”“My mother is the Martial Arts Alliance Hierarch!”“Princely Heir, the Prince Residence has powerful armies...”“My mother is the heir to the Nanduan Kingdom!”Suddenly, a faint voice came from behind: “Then, does your mother need an Imperial Consort? I think myself quite suitable.”

A Journey Across Time, A Battle for FreedomWhat if you could go back in time?What would you do?Stop the world war?Stop slavery?When Joseph Situma, a modern-day man, is thrust back to the year 1542, he is reborn as Khisa Lusweti, the son of a village chief in Eastern Africa. Struggling to bridge the gap between his past life and his new reality, Khisa must navigate the brutal tides of history. But as he uncovers the looming horrors of the transatlantic slave trade, he realizes that fate has given him a chance—an opportunity to change the course of history.Armed with knowledge beyond his years and the trust of a people who see him as both a leader and a boy, Khisa must unite warriors, outthink ruthless enemies, and fight for a future that was never meant to be. But history is not so easily rewritten, and with every victory comes a greater challenge.Will he defy destiny, or will the weight of the past crush him before he can break the chains of oppression?A gripping tale of resilience, strategy, and the unyielding spirit of a people on the brink of war.

My end was not majestic, my beginning was not beautiful, but I will make damn sure that I rise once more. No more shall I bend a knee, no more shall I hide, no more shall I cower. No more shall the light guild my path, for only Darkness remains.

***

Killed by the universe's greatest killer, Truck-Kun. My existence was twisted as I gazed up at King-Yama, staring down at me with revulsion, “You sick bastard, you ate people.” He bellowed, glaring at me with disgust.

Snorting, I gathered my courage raising my head high and proud, my voice carrying a hint of pride, “So what, have you ever tried it...Let me ask you, have you ever had sex.”

A bewildered expression hung on his rugged appearance as he absentmindedly nodded. A slight smirk crossed my face as I declared, “then have you ate ass,”

“WHAT!!!” He balled in panic, shivering like a guilty man on trial.

“HAHA, you call me disgusting, but it appears you were sucking ass, now that is truly disgusting. I don't judge, but if you ask me, I will stick to cannibalism.”

“THAT NOT A FAIR COMPARISON, YOU LITTLE SHIT,”

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.”