MTL - Gold Medal Mediator - Chapter 35 A woman who is a boss (9)

Many people wish to be transported to another world, beautiful women, supernatural powers, adventures and the list continues.

But what happens when you are born in a place where almost everyone see you as a tool, which turned out to be useless for their purposses.

Falling into the depths of despair after losing what he cared for the most, the unmistakable sound of a notification changed his destiny and the one of all the planes of existence, but was it for the good... or not?

"The host's current body is too shitty for the system, physical reformation in progress", "physical reformation complete, as a one time reward for surviving the host might ask the system for a wish".

Follow Daimon on his journey through a world where the existences called "Gods" are only higher ranked mages.

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If You like monsters folklore and cute girls then be my guest
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The cover is not mine, so all the credit for the right owner
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The story will have a lot of dark elements so if you don't have stomach for that then I suggest you to leave, oh also i'm quite a pervert myself so be prepared for that (NO NTR).

With peerless medical skills in one hand and unmatched Kung Fu in the other, bearing the memory of the Medical Divine, I dominate the city as the god it kneels to. I am here, so I decide your fate between life and death! I am here, so I am the heaven that dictates your destiny!

Strong? Handsome? Savage? Badass?It's all about the intelligence quotient, my friend.————PS: Mutation shouldn't be mistaken for enlightenment.

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.”