Divinity: Against the Godly System - Chapter 42: Some guy named Lucifer

[Matured Content]Isadora Skaldwood was born a fae of impure blood “mannfae” deemed an inferior creation of the olden gods. However, at birth she was kissed by the goddess of light and blessed with the ability of a skin weaver, capable of healing any wound or affliction.Betrayed by her family, she's sold for gain and shipped across the world to a brothel, into the hands of a selfish businessman who exploited her abilities for years. Travelers come to this brothel not to lay with the rumored mannfae but to seek her abilities—the star price of the famous brothel in the countryside.But then everything changed when “He” appeared…Kraven Val Thrond “The Reaper” of the Raven Court, a terrifying warrior feared by those who dared to speak his name. Dangerously handsome with looks identical to a god, silver eyes like the crescent moon—but a mind dipped in madness.Isadora despised him, not just for stealing her away, but for thrusting her into his world of blood and chaos—taking her freedom just like everyone else does. He’s insane! But that’s only the cherry on top, his obsession is wicked.(Excerpt)“You want to kill me and at the same time, you do not” Isadora’s features were stern and the cold look in her eyes almost forced a laugh out of him.She got more frustrated by his silence, choosing to insult him and be done with it. “Does a madman not know what to do with a mannfae?”“I can think of a thousand ways to kill you,” Kraven replied in a velvety voice. “Like first throwing you off-board”Isadora's angry expression morphed into one of horror.“But that would be terrifying, wouldn’t it? Drowning in the dark sea, unable to breathe” he voiced as if he could vividly picture it—and him on board watching. “Tell me, Isadora”A cold chill crawled down her spine.“If I let you go, where would you run to, hm? I told you already this realm isn't kind to outcasts like us”“I'm not like you!”He chuckled lightly. “We're alike. What use could you be to this forsaken realm?”“What use could you have of me?” she asked shakily.“Oh love, I can think of many things but I’m not sure you’re ready… yet”

She was transmigrated into a novel where she became the cannon fodder who abused the male lead and ultimately suffered her demise under said male lead. And to return back home, she had to obtain the city boundary map first.

Ye Mu doesn’t want to play a game! Now that she’s inside the book with such a plot, the only way around her death is to kill the male lead first and let this world collapse!

However, upon seeing a scraggly, skinny little boy whose brows were full of perseverance, her hand won’t move…

Well then, she would subdue the male lead’s tyrannical tendencies! How to do it? Raise the male lead and have him help her find the city boundary map? That’s a good idea!

Despite raising him properly, the male lead seems to have grown into a devious man who won’t listen to her. Moreover, he lures her over with the city boundary map.

“Do you want this or not? Then come to my bed.”

Her face was full of tears. Where was the promised honest and upstanding monarch? Does she have to raise him all over again?

The man smiles and pats her on the head, “Come on, stop crying. Wash and go to bed.”

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”

My brother* and I, from elementary school to university, had grown up together. We didn’t just get into the same degree, we’re also sharing the same dormitory room.