The F-Class Healer Omega is a Villain [BL] - Chapter 63: These aren’t changes, this is a crack

Transmigrated Become Sukuna, but the host is Yukinoshita Yukino?“Ryomen Sukuna? The strongest sorcerer in history? He’s just an ordinary person born in a time without me.”Hayashizaki stood in front of Ryomen Sukuna, looking at him with a playful expression.“On my left is the 'Little Yukinoshita,' a possessor of multiple techniques, easily wielding both the Limitless Cursed Technique and the Ten Shadows Technique; on my right is the 'Big Yukinoshita,' who has awakened a unique modern technique, no less powerful than me. As for slashing techniques, those are just our basic attacks.”“So, tell me, how do you, Sukuna with 15 fingers, plan to deal with this?”Ryomen Sukuna stared at the black-haired young man in front of him, whose cursed energy was identical to his own, dumbfounded.

Travel to the game world.

Matthew found that there seemed to be a little problem with his system.

…

“Occupation: Necromancer

Task: plant trees

Target: 1000 trees

Reward: Summoned item ‘Bone Dragon’ & a lot of EXP”

…

In this way, a necromancer who respected the way of balance more than the druid was born.

…

- Description from novelbuddy

The Nine Tribulations Immortal Venerable is reborn in the city, sweeping away contemporary enemies.In front of me, brothers stand. Enemies kneel. Foes lie down.Women, any pose is OK.

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.”