Tranxending Vision - Chapter 1184: Killing Feels Like a Game

She was the daughter of a plutocrat, an elite with multiple identities, known and respected by everyone; she was a young girl from a rich family, who was peacocky and shameless, loathed by all.

After being reborn as her, she defeated the bad man and the angelic bitch, took revenge on the bad guy who killed her, married the most noble man, got into the sweetest relationship, and stunned the world!

Reporter, Mr. Leach, what is your favorite thing in the world?

Benson, Jill.

Reporter, Mr. Leach, what do you like to do most every day?

Benson smiled, Sleeping with Jill in my arms at night.

Juliana: ...

A war veteran and an anime fan as well, he got into anime by watching it with his grandson after his retirement, his grandson loved pokemon and so did he also came to like this world of pokemon where people didn't kill each other and people used to have fun with there pokemon, after watching Pokemon with his grandson and playing with him all day he got back his childhood which he could never experience due to the cruel war, and as of now our MC has turned 82 years old he was very satisfied with his life with no regrets and waiting for death to take him away but will death be is end or will it start a new beginning, a new legend.

Everyone knows that the eldest young master of the Fu family is cold and noble, sinister and cunning.Few people know that he has loved a woman for over ten years and even has a child, making him a true hypocrite.Until one day, in front of the media and under the spotlight, he holds the woman firmly in his arms, tender and affectionate—“Marriage, children, the whole package. After so many years, you still refuse to take responsibility for me?”

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.”