Pokemon: I Transmigrated Twice - Chapter 62: Pokemon: I Transmigrated Twice []

Five years ago, Violet Don was framed and accused of causing the death of Noah Bates's child. This led to Noah's sending her to prison and the downfall of her family. What he didn't know was that Violet was also carrying his child.Five years later, upon Violet's release, Noah corners her, demanding, “If you want your child, come and atone for your sins!”Violet smiles, “You can let him call anyone mom.”Noah, filled with hatred, says, “After five years in prison, how can you still be so cruel!”“Yes,” Violet's eyes redden as she smiles, “In your eyes, I'm a murderer.”Later, he finds out that he has owed her an apology all along. But by then, she no longer cares...

The fiancée has betrayed, but how could she know that the man she looked down upon was in fact a prodigy with healing and martial prowess!

Sunless once wondered why the stars shone so brightly, despite being far out of reach. There was a scientific explanation out there, but he didn’t care about that. If the world wanted to spite him, he’d spite the world back.Sunny will reach for the stars, grasp them, and crush them, drowning the universe with a lightless sky.

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.”