MTL - I Heard You Are an Alien - Chapter 75 Small path

“Be better”

Peter was cursed by those words, the very last words of his dying mother.

Cursed to be better. To be above the small squabbles... And so, the last five years of his childhood, he spent as a target of bullying, both in school and in his adoptive, step-family.

But it all changed, when a portal to another world appeared in the middle of his shed!

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‘Less than a month old… I became the the great empire’s treasured princess…!’

It was supposed to be her sister's wedding night, but she was schemed by her biological mother, drugged, and sent into her 'soon-to-be brother-in-law's' wedding car.When they first met, the man in the wheelchair was as dignified and cold as rumored. Just because she approached him slightly, he grabbed her neck, nearly choking her to death.'A woman marrying into the Fu family must rely on herself to survive, understand?'She nodded frantically, thinking that carefully pleasing him would allow them to live respectfully and peacefully like guests for a lifetime.Yet in the nights and days of accompanying him, she was thoroughly consumed, step by step falling into the trap he had long set.In this life, there is no escape; in this love, it moves the heart.

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.”