Super Insane Doctor of the Goddess - Chapter 387 - : Witch God Array!

“I was nothing... and now, I have one chance to steal everything.”In his previous world, Ethan was just another failure. No talents, no dreams, no hope.But death wasn’t the end it was a new beginning.He wakes up in the body of “Valerian Lucard,” the son of a great family... but the weakest among them. Neglected, shunned, broken.But this time, things are different.He has an unbelievable ability:Fate Theft.Skills, talents, future opportunities... he can steal them, but at a heavy price.And the worst part? What’s stolen... never lasts.Now begins his race against everyone: the elites, the geniuses, the chosen heroes.Not because he's strong, but because he refuses to be nothing... ever again.In this world, either you steal glory... or everything gets stolen from you.

Aziz, a young orphan, had always known there was something different inside him. Despite the achievements and the luxury that surrounded him, he felt empty — as if something essential was missing.On a silent night, lost in thought, he fell asleep in search of answers.Little did he know that would be his last night in this world.——-Guys, this is my first time writing a novel. Support me with a gift if you can.

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.”