My Fierce Tigress Wife - Chapter 202 - : White Tiger Battle Art Second Stage

Lin Da, a former professional player, arrived in the game “Mystic Continent” and aimed to team up with a few “Young Ladies” from Another World to conquer fifty levels of Mystic Realm and become the strongest adventurer squad.However, ever since the team had risen to fame, they had changed somewhat.“Why is your healing so slow? I almost got killed by the Magical Creatures.”“The reason your level is so low is that you don’t train diligently, always have crooked thoughts about us. This 23-year-old guy is so disgusting.”“Better leave the team and become my servant instead; my pet dog just needs a playmate.”The attitude of the three Young Ladies chilled Lin Da’s heart, and he opted out of this team that he had been with for three years and had grown deeply fond of.Only then did they realize who the core of the team really was.When they regretted their actions too late and tried to apologize to Lin Da, seeking to join his team, Lin Da glanced at the team composed of prettier and hotter beautiful girls behind him and said helplessly:“Sorry, my team is full.”

High school student Misumi Makoto is called into a fantasy world by the god Tsukuyomi, in order to be a hero. However, the Goddess ruling the world isn’t as thrilled to have him there, and kicks him to the edge of the world. Tsukuyomi declares that Makoto is free to find his own way after Makoto is abandoned by the other Goddess.

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.”

He was not a human since no human is aware of himself even before his birth.

He has no blood and no heart, but emotions?

He does have feelings, but can he express them?

Why was he called a Devil’s Spawn at his birth?

Why did they cut away his arms and a leg?

Why did no one ever visit him for years?

And why does this emptiness... feels so... just so familiar?

Why does the Void feel so... full?

Who is he? Or rather... What is he?