RISE OF EROS - Chapter 147: [Bonus chapter]

I have a childhood friend.

A man is reborn into the world of Avatar: The Last Air Bender as a waterbender from Katara's tribe. Best of all, he was the same age as her, and he had a system with him to help.He knows the future and a system that lets him continuously get stronger by completing quests or long-term missions, as well as giving him the ability to copy abilities from others for himself. He will become invincible in the world of Avatar, even more so than the Avatar himself.

This is the story of an average normal nobody, who one day got reincarnated in a book that he read in his teens.

At first he felt happy that finally something unexpected happened in his life, but that happiness was short lived as he remembered the plot of the book and the crisis that was coming for the world, and who he was supposed to be - THE FIRST FALLEN - THE GREAT DEVIL.

Just remembering how he was supposed to end up in the novel sent shivers to his spine.

Can a nobody survive in a world where dungeons, towers, monsters, magic, immortals, Gods and demons exist. how can he survive when the whole world is out for his life, and the Gods he prays too are laughing at his stupidity and betting on his death.

Follow his journey as he tries to find new NORMAL ways to survive while ignoring the plot and the protagonist.

At least that was his plan until he heard a very familiar voice -

[DING] [TING] [TIDING]

[FINALLY , FOUND YOU. ]

[DID YOU MISS ME??? ]

“A ROMANTIC ADVENTURE FILLED WITH MYSTERIES AND SOME OF THE BEST REINCARNATION AS EXTRA/VILLAIN PLOTLINES.”

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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.”