JACKAL AMONG SNAKES - Chapter 653: Do Unto Others

A polite and lethargic boy was reincarnated in another world as a vampire bishoujo.

Jinhyuk is a person who likes to immerse himself in the role of the Villains but there is one villain which he particularly hates,

Reed Adeleheights Roton, the false final boss of the game.

The one who created the Seven Disasters.

The one who due to his inferiority complex led to his own doom.

The one who turned a cute innocent girl into the monstrous First Disaster codenamed Cosmo.

“If I was the Villain then I would have raised her a little better.”

And thus God granted his wish and now he was the false final Villain Reed Adeleheights Roton, the creator of the Seven Disasters.

How different would the world turn out to be now?

At level 2, most people unlocked their first talent; those who didn’t were considered fortunate, as they had the potential to unlock rarer talents requiring higher levels. The world’s most rare and powerful talents were revealed at level 5. But what if someone didn’t obtain a talent? Luck quickly turned to misfortune as they were labeled talentless, with no hope of gaining a talent. Sol was one such person who was unable to unlock his talent, but he refused to give up. He persistently fought and trained every day, slowly increasing his level despite the disadvantage in skills. He held onto the hope that, one day, he would be bestowed with a talent like everyone else. As years passed, his determination began to wane until one fateful day. You have leveled up! +5 Free stats. Talent Unlocked - [Siphoner]! This event marked the beginning of his story.

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.”