FALLEN ANGEL: MARRIED TO THE DEMON KING - Chapter 2: KICKED OUT OF HEAVEN; THANKS MOM ()

Qin Qing played a game and suddenly traveled to the world of Greek mythology and became Apollo, the God of light.

At this time, he discovered that the treasure chest system in the game had also traveled over.

Looking at the densely packed light spots on the map plate, he couldn’t help but fall into deep thought.

Um, Athena, don’t get me wrong, I’m just here to get a treasure chest. I didn’t break into your bedroom on purpose.

Zeus, please move your butt. My god-level treasure chest is under your throne.

Here, why is the super god treasure chest in Tartarus?

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The Fu family in Liushan Village has had boys for generations, and was so poor that only boys were left, and they finally hoped for a daughter. As soon as the little girl was born, the grandmother who was almost dead was so happy that she recovered from her illness; as soon as she went out to pick up things and found her hands were soft, all the birds and animals flying in the sky, swimming in the water, and running in the mountains fell in front of her, like a pie falling .

I thought that picking up gold would be powerful enough, but I didn’t expect to find a husband on the way, who is still quite a powerful person.

Ever since she was born in Fujia, it has been smooth and smooth, and she has never failed to do business and build a house. The family members treat her dearly and spoil her to death.

“Live the life you want this time.”

A peerless assassin, codename: Hua, has already started her career ever since she was a child. Her mission’s record was perfect and whoever deemed to be her enemies would end up dead without knowing why.

When war ended, she was sent to an institution where she was watched heavily. The doctor in charge gave her an ordinary wuxia novel to read.

An avalanche struck after she had finished reading.

When she woke up, she had turned into Nan Hua, the young miss

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.”