The Demonic King Chases His Wife: The Rebellious Good-for-Nothing Miss - Chapter 203 – A new beginning (2)

To pick is to choose. This is a story about choices. Three thousand worlds full of gods and demons, with a daoist scroll in your hand, you are able to control the entire universe…

Murong Lingran, who was originally an ancient person, accidentally traveled to the 21st century and lived for 20 years. She was killed when she was bumped and killed while trying to save her child on the way to moving house.

She returned to the ancient times and saw her original family again. Before she could rejoice, she found that she was being swept out of the house, and their family was injured and scattered, and they didn’t even have a place to live.

She clenched her fists, it doesn’t matter, there is space behind her and the omnipotent gods and beasts help, no matter how big the difficulties are. There will be money, houses, fields, manors, shops, and family reunions. It’s just that she didn’t expect that she would accidentally hug the thickest thigh, the kind that doesn’t want to be hugged.

PS: 1. This article is 1V1, overhead, the rack is very empty, please be careful to enter the party.

2. There is room in this article, and there will definitely be plots that go beyond reality. It’s fine to watch it, but if you can’t accept it, don’t enter.

3. Refuse personal attacks, or rebound.

- Description from novelbuddy

Crossers invaded the world and thrust Humanity into an interworld conflict.Humanity's instinct for survival was stimulated—rekindling the ancestral bloodline's legacy that lies dormant within them. Vampires, Elves, and even Demons were not mere figures of fantasy, but rather the true ancestors of Humanity in ages past.Thus, Hybrids were reintroduced to the world.Lucivar Asarafall, a man of humble origin—failed to awaken his bloodline. Despite his good deeds, his family loathed him. In his final trial, he swore to succeed but fate intervened, he was chosen as the monthly sacrifice for his city.In a near-death experience, his bloodline awakened, an Angel.A turning point in his life, but soon he realized that he was not the Angel he thought to be.In a world where the rulers were descendants of Dracula, the Dark Prince—or Chi Long, the Inferno King, the bloodline of malevolent beings from realms beyond mortal comprehension coursed through Lucivar's veins.While others became Hybrids, Lucivar became the messenger of Evil Gods, a False Angel.“Who cares about good or evil? If I kill someone wicked, it's a win, one less rival in my way. If I kill someone noble, it is still a win—the world would've consumed them sooner or later. So why not let it happen by my hand? After all, I'm more practical. I became stronger and you get a painless death, win-win”———Very manipulative and unhinged MC, be warned. He's a slave to the Evil Gods.A trickster God.An arrogant God.A chaotic God.A wrathful God.A puritanical God.Read to find who these Gods are!———

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.”