MHA: Absolute Telekinesis - Chapter 46: Not a -

Song Yuan accidentally picked up a 5-year-old child.

The child has bright eyes, chiseled features, and prideful demeanor. He referred to himself as “this prince” and his mannerism was wild, cool, and stuck up.

“This prince will never eat such lowly food!”

“How dare you flirt with other men behind the back of my imperial father?”

“He insulted this prince and you sided with him? This prince will sentence his entire clan to death!”

Song Yuan was very disturbed. The DNA test had confirmed that the child was, indeed, her son, but why did he act like he was delusional?

More importantly, who was the father of the child?

The prince was going mad from worrying; Imperial Father, if you don’t come soon, Imperial Mother is really going to cheat on you!

- 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.”

It was understood that this was a capitalist country, where the possession of the greatest amount of capital determined to whom the nation effectively belonged.The smile that had been resting on William Sheffield’s face was abruptly erased as his expression turned cold. In a tone laced with determination, it was demanded by him that the police be contacted immediately so that they could crush those who stood in their way. The reasoning behind his words seemed clear: if such actions had been taken before by someone like Rockefeller, then why should it not also be possible for Sheffield?A sense of irony hung in the air as the sentiment was expressed—this was America, where each day seemed to unfold as though it were part of an ongoing shootout, with battles fought not just with guns but with power, influence, and wealth.

Babel Tower, a mysterious organization, suddenly appeared in front of the world. In the name of saving the world, they studied mutation technology and dealt with all kinds of terrifying natural disasters. They forcefully controlled Knight, Psychics, Witch and other big shots to join their organization and become operators.

“Everything is under the Savior’s control.”

“I’m the queen of the Vampire, I won’t kneel before you! Damn it! I can’t control my body!”

“Please, let me rest. I don’t want to go on another mission.”

…

Everyone believed that the mysterious leader behind the Babel Tower, the savior, was definitely the force of God.

After hearing this, I panicked.

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