Call Of The Dark - Chapter 101 [Bonus ] Felt Like… Mutiny

For a long time, Malin always felt that Fate had been quite generous to him. Although he had to face that life-threatening job every day, as long as he had the lovely Leopard Girl cooking delicious food for him daily, and as long as there was meat to eat and cats to stroke, life wasn't too unbearable. Working a bit harder and facing some difficulties on the job weren't really an issue for a man.Moreover, being able to live two lives meant one shouldn't have too high demands, right, Mr. Different-Kind?Having said that, and without waiting for an answer, the young man snapped his fingers, and the white flame on his fingertip lit the tobacco in his other hand, then he flicked it towards the non-human entity on the stake.Welcome to Abield, to witness the last splendor of the steampunk era.And the madness.

“Wait... Where am I and... who am i?”Just after he thought he was successfully betrayed and killed by his most favored surbodinate. Taylor finds himself on the floor of a remote alley“Don't tell me I got reincarnated?” Hutton muttered with a look of disbelief on his face.P.S; Join the novel discord server for any announcements or questions and answers sections

For the wine to be drunk on her wedding night to actually have been a cup of poison and for the one to poison her to be her husband, who would believe it?

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.”