MTL - League of Legends: 700 Years Later - Chapter 1267 Shaped ten layers!

Auren was the star of his generation. Graduated the combat school at the age of 12, mental fortitude was beyond his peers, and he was considered the talent of the Western State of Lysendral.It was for this reason that his awakening was greatly anticipated. Everyone was sure the star would receive a Divine Blessing from the Archon.And like others before him, be set on a definite journey to becoming the strongest Blessed in the history of the world.However, expectations were shattered when Auren awakened a Divine… Curse.“Such a phenomenon has never been heard of!”“How can a human awaken a curse! This is an abomination! Kill him! Sacrifice him to the archons!”In such a slight moment of appointment, Auren's entire life came crashing down.And he became a national criminal. Locked up and sentenced to death for having receiving a curse instead of a blessing.A 16 year old boy was ruthlessly killed by a guillotine and offered as a sacrifice to prevent doom… and the people relished in it.However, this was not the end for Auren.[Congratulations, you have died by execution],[Conditions have been met][You have challenged your first fester.][A requiem beckons onto you..][...Your resurrection awaits.]Having broken the shackles of death, Auren rises again to seek vengeance and destroy not just the nation that had killed him but tear down the very existence of the archons themselves.But is everything really as it seems?

After transmigrating into a weak noble body, Marvin discovered that he was familiar with the world, this was the game he played in his previous life and… Damn! He only had six months before the Great Calamity!

I failed and will challenge 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.”