Reborn Young Miss: Phoenix Burning Red - Chapter 129: Mask Off (1)

BLURB> He was reborn by mistake. Raised with purpose. Loved by a god. Worshipped by monsters. And the galaxy doesn’t stand a fucking chance.Irvine’s soul took one wrong turn through the wheel of karma and woke up in a body grown by an intergalactic hivemind goddess with boundary issues and galaxy-sized ambition. Now he’s the golden child of a psychic swarm that feeds on control and burns whole worlds for affection.With Crystal at the helm, warriors like Kimchi, relic-weapons like Kiya, and a council of psionic horrors eager to call him king, Irvine must choose what kind of god he wants to be.Because when a hivemind learns to love......it doesn’t know when to stop.The universe will kneel—or get devoured trying.SYNOPSISIrvine didn’t ask to be reincarnated, but the cosmos had other plans. And it didn’t hand him a cheat code or a clean slate—just one random boon, selected by an uncaring divine roulette wheel.Good karma? Bad karma? Balanced as all fuck.Now he's reborn in the body of a psionically tuned alien hybrid, raised from psychic infancy by Crystal, the hivemind queen of a race so advanced they’ve abandoned individuality for shared omniscience. All except her baby boy.Irvine is the singularity inside the swarm, the first soul allowed to think, dream, and desire independently. Trained by warriors like Kimchi, advised by bio-symbiotes like Kiya, loved ferociously by hive sisters like Diane, and shadowed by powers ancient and unnamed, Irvine is both weapon and wielder, saint and sacrifice.But empires don’t run on hugs and handjobs. As Crystal expands her dominion—across star systems and sentient nebulae—Irvine must lead the charge through blood, fire, and psionic flame.His soul is still human. His body? Engineered for extinction. His heart? Not entirely his anymore.

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.”

I, the mighty Telepath Starlord, got banished into the mortal world. The days in the mortal world are much better than those in heaven! Everything is here — money, authority and most importantly stunning beauties! I am from a rich family. Yes, I am indeed wealthy now. The kind of wealth where you would not want to displease me. Domineering CEOs, military big shots, business geniuses, you name it — I know them all! I know everything you are thinking about. You can’t defeat me anyway, how are you going to go against me? A century in the mortal world is only equivalent to a hundred days in heaven.

After transmigrating into a SF (Science Fiction) novel and enduring cruel hardships, I ascended to the throne as the Emperor of the Galactic Empire.[Welcome to the Integrated Dimensional Community.]As the community’s Lone SF Transmigrator, I unleashed the poison of new cultures on the uncivilized primitives of the Otherworlds.-Let there be light. To judge the horde of evil, the Apostle of the Goddess sent down a Graviton Surge. Thus, in that place was light along with a massive explosion…-The Grand Duke of the North has shown great interest in your Heattech…-I, as a Namgung, am thankful for the grace akin to the vast sea provided by the Great Hero. By virtue of the Vibroblade bestowed by the Great Hero, the nefarious Demonic Cult has…It seems like these Otherworlders can’t get their sh*t together.