Devoted Love:The Billionaire's Precious Wife - Chapter 799 - 800

The world calls for heroes, and in dire situations, they tend to rely on anything just to escape death and live.The story begins when a man from another world becomes one of the three heroes of fate. His strength prospers among the other two, fate favors him, but the people do not.After saving the entire continent from the Demon God, they feared his strength and banished him from any human land with no where to go he thought of nothing but to suffer.But there are still beings who cared enough to give his life a new light.[ You are never Forgotten ]

“I can’t do it anymore. Stop it…I can’t take it anymore!” The second young master stopped in his tracks and raised his brows as he stared at Miss Jiang. “All you had to do was jog, so—”

Everyone knew that Miss Jiang was an artiste who had been defamed and blacklisted before she became famous again. When she got into trouble, she did not give up but fought persistently. Everyone knew that the second young master was the mysterious head of the enterprise. He was an extremely cold person with an exquisite taste. Moreover, the second young master had recently adopted a new hobby. He took in his younger brother’s ex-fiancée and he was extremely fond of her…

- 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.”