Almighty Video Game Designer - Chapter 1129

For money, Jin Jumo “signed” herself to the business tycoon Rong Mochen, for a period of one year.Upon their first meeting, the man's voice was icy, “I like women who keep their place, understand?”“Yes.” Jin Jumo nodded lightly.So, Jin Jumo always adhered to her place, tightly locking her heart away, never crossing the line.If there was anything in her relationship with Rong Mochen that Jin Jumo hadn't anticipated, it would be...---“Mr. Rong, our contract expired a week ago.” Jin Jumo lightly curved her lips, giving a smile that didn't reach her eyes as she looked at the man in front of her.“So?”“So, Mr. Rong, are you playing rogue now?” Jin Jumo gritted her teeth.“Hmm...” Rong Mochen frowned, leisurely raising his head to look at Jin Jumo, “Is my daughter behaving well in your belly?”“It's not even two months, how do you know it's definitely a daughter...”Wait... Jin Jumo's eyes widened in terror, she hadn't told him she was pregnant...Rumor had it, a car accident targeting Z City tycoon Rong Mochen resulted in the death of a seven-month-pregnant woman.Rumor had it, after the accident, the Rong Family's president underwent a drastic change, becoming ruthless and fierce from being coldly indifferent.Rumor had it, the person killed in the accident was the person closest to Rong Mochen's heart.---Four years later.“Brother, do we really need to find a new boyfriend for Mommy?” The little bun bit his chubby fingers, looking at the little boy beside him who was slightly taller.“Yes.” The boy squinted, his gaze coldly fixed on the televised global sensation of the Rong Family's president's luxurious engagement ceremony.“But didn't Brother say that the old man named Rong is our real dad?”Jin Jumo, who had just stepped into the house, was nearly collapsing inside. How did the two little guys know Rong Mochen was...

Chu Nan was just an ordinary student, but because of an accident, he obtained the data collection, analysis and processing ability equivalent to the most advanced optical brain.

After his father was murdered and his peaceful village massacred, Sol woke up to find a mysterious old man standing over him claiming to be his new Master.

“You want revenge, don’t you? I’ll train you so you have the strength to take it, but you have to become my one and only disciple first!”

Sol’s peaceful village life training with his father ended for his journey of revenge and hatred to begin. However, on this journey, he would meet people who slowly changed him; who would go on to become his friends and loved ones.

Sol’s desire for revenge faded to be replaced by something else, a desire much stronger than before.

“I no longer seek revenge. What I now seek is to create a world where no one has to experience pain and suffering. And the only way to do that… is to rule!”

However, there was a catch. Would the powerful hegemonies who rule the world and cause chaos with their conflicts allow this boy to usurp their long reign?

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any events, places, or names are all from the author's imagination and Google. If someone in any way assumes this book to be real or based on real events, I strongly suggest you send me Golden Tickets for doing such a good job.

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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.”