MTL - My House of Horrors - Chapter 68 Midnight ticket counter

Losing his parent early on, he had to survive in a world he couldn´t even see… Blind and left alone, he was seen as a parasite by the social hierarchy of the new ages filled with martial arts and soulbonds

In a world where strength is measured by the beasts you command, only a few ever reach the peak — and even fewer survive the journey beyond it.Aether was just an orphan in a forgotten city, someone with no family, no background, and no future. During the Beast Contract Ceremony, everyone expected him to fail… or at best obtain a weak creature.Instead, he formed a contract with what appeared to be the most useless beast of all — a Fire Pup.But what no one knows is that Aether possesses a power that should not exist.His beasts can evolve without limit.While others struggle for years and risk their lives to gather rare materials, Aether’s beasts grow stronger simply by fighting beside him. As he rises through factions, battles powerful enemies, and unlocks ancient evolutions, the truth about his mysterious origin slowly begins to surface.Hidden bloodlines.A sister imprisoned by the rulers of evolution.And a secret tied to the legendary Ascension Gates that connect three universes.What begins as the journey of a forgotten orphan soon becomes something far greater.Because the Fire Pup that everyone mocked…Was destined to become a Hell Cerberus.And Aether was never meant to be ordinary.He was meant to become the Beast Monarch.---

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.”