Green Skin - Chapter 232

Warning: Dark Romance!In the heart of Upper Ville lies a cursed werewolf pack, haunted by the Moon goddess herself. Isabella Ferris, a reckless and wolfless omega, yearns for an alpha mate who will bow to her every whim. But fate has other plans when she crosses paths with Razor King, the feared, cruel, and domineering alpha of the Bloody Skull pack, whom everyone bows to. Forced into marriage by a dark bargain, Isabella is thrown into the brutal world of werewolves and Mafia power struggles.

Hoarding top-tier baddies, stealing people's wives, and cucking kings and emperors. That was Dapper’s daily routine. Life was sweet… until he caught the attention of the system enforcers.Liam, a teenage thief with a twisted way of thinking, died in the middle of a high-stakes heist. But just when he thought it was all over, he met a god, a failed god, who granted him a glitched system.Reincarnated into the body of a meek teenager named Dapper, Liam finds himself in a world ruled by magic, systems, and mythical creatures. This time, he’s determined to live the life he never could in his old one. The wild fantasies he once harbored are finally within reach… but at what cost?

We’ve come to a world where the roles of men and women have been reversed. So, of course, women will rush to us. “You don’t have to bring water.” “Oh, okay…” …I guess I’ll just have to live the way I always have.

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.”