My Children Are Fierce And Adorable! - Chapter 387 - His Expression Darkened

This book takes you on a tour of one of the most terrifying yet also most mysterious planes in the Multiverse: the Bottomless Abyss. ------------ A Knight, forsaken by his liege, was forced to exile himself to the Abyss. Due to a fortuitous encounter, he obtained the legacy of a Spiritual Cultivator. What kind of story will he encounter? ------------ The setting mixes the backgrounds of editions 3 and 5, adhering strictly to DND settings apart from the protagonist’s profession, but considers readers who have never participated in a campaign, ensuring that everyone can read it without barriers.

The Demon King dies and the entire Demon Realm perishes in the prologue of “The Demon King is Dead,” and I have become the Demon Prince of that novel.

… Somebody save me.

……………………………………………………………

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Link’s soul traversed into the Wizard World, delightfully obtaining the Krypton Card Drawing System.

With his first draw being the “Mind Closure Technique,” his cultivation progress far surpassed his fellow apprentices.

He conducted research, carried out experiments, published papers, and obtained patents.

In this highly advanced civilization of a fantastical world, he climbed to the peak step by step.

He campaigned across the Heavens, admired countless bizarre landscapes, and conquered one innovative civilization after another.

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.”