The Savior is just a 3-Year-Old - Chapter 1489

The daughter of a healthcare company's CEO, Ines Jackson was in an arranged relationship that was soon supposed to turn into a marriage.However, her fiancé, Trevor Harrington, was physically abusing her and using her only for her family’s status.One night, while running away from him as he chased her in a drunken rage, she bumped into a guy…not just any guy, but a famous boxer: Raphael Giovanni, whom she had never heard of personally.He saved Ines from Trevor, and in her rush for safety, she offered him a marriage in return.Unbeknownst to Ines, Raphael knew her father, who was responsible for his mother’s health issues and eventually her death.Seeking revenge, Raphael agreed to the marriage. But little did he know that the heiress would become more than just a part of his revenge plan.“You can’t love me…monsters like me don’t live enough to experience love.”

Wendy Waltz, a diehard anti romantic! Though born as royalty, she had been neglected by her father and bullied by her stepmother and younger sibling. To make this worse, she had been betrayed by her lover. She throws away her royalty and name and starts anew with a new name and a strange power! But who is this Head of the Imperial Guards, Lard Shroder, who keeps appearing beside her?

Ezekiel died on Earth only to be resurrected in the body of a Lich

Well, now he’d done it. He was only playing the villain to blow off steam, now he was stuck in the body of one.

Trapped in a hostile world, Zeke must flee his former guild. The problem is, he can only flee into a holy kingdom ruled by the Church of Olattee. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Only his power is gone, and he must start over.

Well…. Mostly anyway, he is still a lich after all and he still has his weapon, Mercy, which is more powerful than even he knows.

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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.”