To Hell With Being a Hero! - Chapter 272. Abraxas (5)

5 years ago, Earth was subject to an event now known as the “World Awakening”.

At that time, the world completely changed. Mana awakened in the world, gates began opening, and a holographic screen showed up in front of the eyes of every human that outlined their “status”.

Each individual was given a talent to start with, ranging from simple abilities like enhanced eyesight to insane fantasy stuff like pyrokinesis.

And within this myriad of abilities, Damien awakened a spatial affinity with the skill “short-distance teleportation”.

At first, he was excited, thinking about intense battles and gaining great power, but the reality was quick to shoot him down.

His ability only worked in the area 10 meters around himself, and his physical stats were insanely weak, leaving him tired after using his ability a couple of times.

Disillusioned by his weakness, Damien lived a quiet life doing anything he could to meet ends meet, until one day, everything changed.

Damien was betrayed and thrown into a gate, left to fend for himself in a labyrinth of beasts.

Something snapped in him that day. He refused to stay weak and keep his head down any longer.

When he emerged from the darkness, he found himself in a new world with no idea how to return to earth.

However, he wasn’t the same kid he was when he first fell.


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P.S. Cover is not mine. If the owner has any problems, I can remove it.

An experiment gone wrong, or possibly right? A Nascent Kaleidoscope opens his eyes.

A reincarnated Zelretch story. Previous Fate-series knowledge recommended.

A Fate/DxD/Multi Crossover.

In Light of the horrendous new update, know that I do cross post on Fan Fiction dot Net.

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I failed and will challenge again.

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.”