Marvel: Start with Level Five Mutants - Chapter 437: Repent, Messiah!

Kai of the Sorcerer’s Tower is one of the last mages left, barely surviving in a world ruled by creatures of the dark — where the era of mages ended, and most of the lands got contaminated with dead mana. To save his world and fulfil his master’s last wish, he put himself through a forbidden ritual, risking his soul being ripped into pieces to make his way into the past. In an era with abundant mana — an era yet to enter the Golden Era of Magic. Things go wrong, of course, as they always do, and he finds himself thousands of years before the world fell to mana contamination — in the body of a young lord, Arzan. All is not well, though, as the young lord was murdered by someone right at the cusp of a beast wave threatening the territory, while larger threats loom on the horizon. There was a lot to do for Kai to regain his former strength in this time of primitive technology, but then again, he might just be able to change that.

He doesn’t want to be wanted for bounty, or be a pirate, but if there’s no other choice, he can only become a pirate…..

I wasn’t hit by a truck, nor was I struck by a thunderbolt, yet here I’m inside Hunter X Hunter world, and I even have a system, but it’s really a weird one, it always gives me these kinds of choices:

【1：Join the Ryuudan. Reward: Magma Fruit.】

【3：Destroy the Ryuudan. Reward: Ice Fruit.】

【2：Ignore the Ryuudan. Reward: Fire Fruit.】

Allan sighed, “The problem is I’m really an indecisive guy…”

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.”