MTL - Fantasy World Transmigration - v4 Chapter 118 Corpse Demon Wish, 2nd Reincarnation, Holy Demon God Body

Netorase or Voyeurism:A story about a guy and his childhood friend. He discovers a strange fetish. She loves him deeply and follows his ideas. It may or may not be interpreted as netorase.They’re a couple, but he doesn’t love her romantically. He’s obsessed with another woman. She loves him so desperately that she’s willing to do anything for him.Main Tag: Erostory

So, apparently I'm Albedo now...And to make things worse, I'm in the Marvel universe, which one exactly, I've got no fucking clue.Fuck man! Why do I have to be in the body of a inverted person! Do you know how attention drawing white hair and red eyes look like in the real world?! It's been like what, the 4th person who asked me if they were natural?!...I gotta dye this shit black, like my original hair was...

President Forrest raised Zinnia Lawrence, catering to her every need. Zinnia believed that was love. It took two years of marriage for her to realize she was merely his best-kept pet, while she saw him as her entire world.His first love returned, and Zinnia resolutely asked for a divorce. He scoffed, “Can a cat trained from young leave its master? You can't run.”Zinnia ran away and never looked back, receiving proposals daily on her path to beauty.Jenson Forrest went crazy.“Mrs. Forrest! Be good, look at me once more.” He cornered her, his dark eyes filled with intense affection.She smiled gently, “People and dogs are on different paths. Step aside, don't block my romances.”The man held her waist, eyes reddening at the corners, “For the next 365 days, I've reserved the proposal spot. Zinnia, marry me again!”

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.”