MTL - Reborn: Super God of War - Chapter 39 Wood castle

[A Slime Monster Evolution LitRPG]Our protagonist was set for what should have been a good life; born as a noble prodigy with a talent for Dimension Magic.Unfortunately, they did not get a chance to live that life of adventure, wonder, and accomplishment as they died an early death.However, a kind(?) grandpa gives our protagonist a choice for the next life; instead of having a generic life starting from zero, why not join one of his experimental reincarnations not yet approved?However, the experiment was a lot... Slimier than expected.What to expect?- Monster evolution and mutation- Traits and skills- Collect-a-Thon- Lots of experimentation- Adventurers and Dungeons- Deception and Disguises- Magic- Lots of slime

Moulded from rot and souls, Loimos is born as an undead, as a skeleton. An undead linked to the weakest category of its kind, yet, he has something no other of the dead have. He is pure. Follow the journey of Loimos as he fulfils his duty and hunts down the living with extreme prejudice and faces off with the hypocrisy of those who live in death. In a world thriving with life, magic and heroes, he stands as the solution and its end.

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.”