The Villain Only Wants To Live a Buddhist Life - Chapter 196: You are my best Christmas present 2 in 1

In the last life, Lin Yu Tong chose to fly with Shen Jun for his own happiness, whereby he ended up creating an irreparable regret for a lifetime. However, such a contribution has not been able to exchange the happiness of a lifetime. Shen was derailed and Lin Yu Tong had an accident.

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The emaciated old man with an alien-like appearance grinned maliciously, while the young girl cried and howled.“Worm, worm, worm, worm, worm, worm...”Countless worms surged towards the girl like a tide, seemingly intent on devouring her completely.The girl instinctively closed her eyes and let out a desperate wail.“Someone... save me!”A breathtaking beam of light cut through the dimness, dispelling the girl's fear and the swarm of worms that filled her vision. Accompanied by a voice that was young but carried a hint of sunshine.“It's okay, I'm here. Big brother is here to protect you.”The boy with purple hair and purple eyes held a scythe in his hand, blocking in front of the girl, and issued a declaration of death to the old man.“You deserve to die, Zouken Matou. No, Makiri Zolgen!”

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.”