Seraphina's Revenge: A Rebirth In The Apocalypse Novel - Chapter 7: Alone in the Weight Room

I possessed the weakest character in my favorite game’s Hell Mode. I want to survive, but the way the main character is being controlled is atrocious.

It can’t be helped.

I have to stop the bad ending myself.

Traveling to a different world, a bizarre, mysterious and vast world unfolds in front of Zhao Ji. He wants to run hard in this vast world and live a free and easy life.

- Description from novelbuddy

Su Qingqing was being watched by a pervert.

Yes, that man with a model figure and an immortal appearance that was all about women’s aesthetic points, however he was ruthless and refused to recognize her. He also successfully fooled her into a marriage with only ninety-nine yuan!

It should’ve been that each takes what they need, it’s mutual benefit. Typically, everything should revolve around interests.

But only watching her make a fool of herself, secretly letting her go, mocking her for being ugly without make-up!
Even worse, he squatted at her bedside one night.

His handsome face was full of indignation.

What do you mean by warding off evil spirits?

What contraception??

The man laughed wantonly, and there was no trace of cold air in him. “Darling, I missed you all night last night.”

“Shut up! What are you trying to do?”

The man hooks his lips, trapping the person under his body with an overwhelming advantage. His posture was very provocative.

“What do you want to do…”

Eh? Is it not enough to pay you back? Do I have to sleep with you??

Su Qingqing’s heart trembled. “Go away, you pervert! Let go of me! If you have the ability, let go. Let…let’s fight!”

“Fight? Then we can fight in bed.”

“…”

“Who shouts stop first is the loser, how about it?”

He didn’t even give Su Qingqing the chance to regret, as the man kept her lips shut.

Wuwu, this husband, she can’t stand it, can she give him away?

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”