Eighteen's Bed - Chapter 0: Prologue

I scoffed. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”Cade squeezed his face into displeasure as he stepped closer to me, “What doesn’t matter anymore?” His blue eyes turned a shade darker than they should.“You are our mate, Isn’t that what you wanted all along?” Kael spoke and I snapped my gaze at him.It was too late! Nothing could ever make me want them. I loathed them so much that it hurt. Perhaps that’s what happens to a broken soul who was given a second chance.“Iris…” Zane called. He was the calmest of the three, his eyes were soft, trying to reach out to me and I stepped back avoiding him like a plague.They were monsters. All three of them.I find it hard to breathe but this was my decision to make. Gone was the fragile old me.“I, Iris Orlene…” I stared at the triplets dead in the eyes, inhaling sharply. Not a single drop of emotion was left in me.“Reject you all three Alphas; Cade, Kael, and Zane Verek to be my mate.”***Iris Oren, once the cherished daughter of Alpha Oren Roland and Luna Selene of the Blackbane Pack, I faced a dire accusation of treason for allegedly poisoning the former beta who’s now the current alpha, Alpha Darius Verek, the current ruthless leader who betrayed and murdered my parents when I was just a kid, accused me of their murder and took over the alpha throne. Now, I am a despised maid in my own pack. I am publicly condemned in the council room, surrounded by hostile pack members, including Alpha Darius, his sons who are triplets, Cade, Kael, and Zane, my childhood sweet hearts, and my former best friend Liora. Despite my weak protests of innocence, no one believed me, and Darius sentenced me to death by being buried alive but the council pleaded as he shifted the punishment to 200 strokes of whips with sulfur powder but unknown to me, it was changed to a silver powder, very dangerous to werewolves.During this brutal public punishment, I couldn’t make it, I died.Waking up again, I realised I'd been brought back to my past life, on my 18th birthday, days before my death.In my past life, I am a weak and wolfless omega who can’t even defend herself and has loved the triplets so dearly that I could do anything for them without considering my dignity. Now I am reborn, I am determined to change my fate.

I became a wizard of the Illusion Magic School and decided to create a virtual reality with illusion magic to play a tabletop role-playing game (TRPG).It was great to create a virtual reality, but I was in trouble because there were no suitable players. During that time, I received an offer to be the professor from the Royal Academy.The offer was to use illusion magic to fill the students’ lack of practical experience safely. And so, I became a professor at the academy.“Send me back, send me back to that world right now-!”“Outer god, someday an outer god will be our doom, we’ll all die!!”“I am not the bastard of the Redburn Ducal Family. I am the foremost disciple of the Great Namgung Clan, Namgung Qinghui!”But it seems there is a bit of a misunderstanding.This isn’t a spell for dimensional travel, kids. It’s fiction…

As the final dragon lay defeated, Aaran stared at the sky while the rest celebrated.[Awaiting the gods’ response...]He clenched his fists, his heart pounding. A shred of hope flickered in his eyes, only to be extinguished like always.[The attained outcome was deemed unsatisfactory.]Aaran had seen the message for the twentieth time. He had become the gods’ plaything in their desire to witness the “perfect ending”.He regressed once again, but this time as a toddler and charm being the only stat he had.But something was amiss. The world he remembered had changed. Powers that did not exist before had taken hold of the world.Tired of following the traditional route, Aaran chose to fight darkness with darkness… as the gods’ chosen necromancer!

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.”