Shinigami in the Ninja World - Chapter 172: To the Past

Aizel has been depressed since he was a young man. From being tormented in school to being treated as an outcast solely because he is an antisocial person, the only things that kept him going were novels, manga, piano, and sword practice.He never anticipated being transferred to another world while drunk by the side of a lake under the moon. The world with mana is filled with superpowers, magic, and monsters, and he is unsure whether he is dreaming or not.Only to discover later that he possesses a power that may be called the most deadliest thing he could have ever imagined, but with limitations and drawbacks...“All of the kingdoms, magic, and everything about Xelgar fascinate me. But what Alora said makes me very curious.”“I knew I could easily use sword skills, fire skills, and techniques because I had seen and read so many anime and novels. I still can't believe that there is now a unique power as well.”“Is it true that I possess the power of imagination, as Alora claims? Isn't that a little overpowering? However, I was still unable to use some techniques and skills in the fights. The power has a disadvantage and a limitation.”“Is that because of my cracked core? If I can somehow recover it, will I be able to do anything just by imagining?”

He lost the moment he thought he had finally won.An orphan. A child of unknown origins. And now...a captive at the hands of someone whose intentions remain unknown.Follow the journey of Adrian as he breaks through the slavery, journeys across dimensions and unravels secrets, buried deep from the eyes of the mortals.He must not only face the challenges that fate throws in his path but also his past....the past he had long tried to forget about.It's now or never!“The locked gates of the past await me. For they shall be the lands waiting for me to be conquered or they would be my nemesis.”

He is the master of six kingdoms. As long as he wanted, his cavalry is ready to wipe off any country.

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.”