MTL - Super Battleship Reborn - ~ Take another day off today. . .

Everything Wang Hu ever wanted before he died was to build a family.

“The more the Holy See supports me, the more it means I am doing the right thing. The more the heretics oppose me, the more it means I am doing the right thing.”

“If even the heretics praise me, it proves that I did the right thing. If the heretics don’t say a word, it shows that I did something impeccable!”

“If the Holy See opposes me, it means that they have degenerated into evil heretics. The more the heretics oppose me, the more it means that I have done the right thing.”?

In 681, Ansu, the youngest Pope in the history of the Holy See, was crowned Holy Pope. He delivered a speech and gave important instructions for the subsequent de-deification work. Pope Anzu emphasized:

“And now both the Holy See and heretics are against me, which just shows that I am on the right path!”

…

685 years.

“It’s not that the evil god can’t be summoned, but it’s more cost-effective to choose him to take the stage.”

Sylvia, the former Saint of the Demon Tribe, commented this way.

As soon as these remarks came out, they instantly aroused the attention of all walks of life – the large-scale documentary “The Legend of Pope Anzu” will continue to be broadcast for you.

——

This is the story of a top evil player speeding through a fantasy world.

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”

To be is to have a soul. The soul begets a will. Wills accumulate into mysterious psychic forces, weaving secret domains within the fabric of reality.