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... > Undeterred by her emotional outburst, he stood up, a toothy grin tugging on his lips. His voice was surprisingly gentle, but it sent shivers wracking Argider's body, her eyes fluttering away in pain. "Fool. I was the one who sold you out. The one who left you dead."

He reached out and and swiped the wetness of Argider's trembling lips, savoring her labored breathing, greeting her with a reassuring smile.

Before she could even utter a gasp, he struck her face with a firm but con ...

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Leaving a normal life is boring, but I was happy with what I had.

Even when I spent most of my life in regret and misery, I lived because I had someone that I loved dearly.

And that said someone took my life...

But fate had different plans for me...

As if death wasn't enough for me.

As if the gods were mocking me.

I got reincarnated into a hardcore romance game that I used to play.

That too when the prequel game that I played the most ended twenty-five years ago.

A game where death is everyone's mistress.

A game that people either liked or hated too much.

Now reincarnated into the body of the Villainess's son.

I became someone that I hated the most...

“Hahaha...”

I laughed at my own misery.

As if that too wasn't enough, I also became the slave of someone else's desires.

Now, one might say a mother is a mother even if the world sees her as a Villainess.

But what if your mother is the very incarnation of evil?

That your mother is the hurdle that you have to overcome?

What if your mother is the very reason you might die?

Gentleness and love are the last things one could expect from her.

“Hahaha...”

Again, a hollow laugh escaped my lips as the realization dawned on me.

That I have been...

Reincarnated As The Villainess's Son...

……………………………………………………………

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Carlos was an ordinary software engineer on Earth, up until he died and found himself in a fantasy world of dungeons, magic, and adventure. This new world offers many fascinating possibilities, but it's unfortunate that the skills he spent much of his life developing will be useless because they don't have computers.Wait, why does this spell incantation read like a computer program's source code? Magic is programming?Updates weekly on Tuesday.

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There came a sudden ravage by monstrous creatures in a civilian world, leaving humanity's hope to lurk in shadows. Hunters, trained in special schools, wield potential and abilities that enabled them keep the beasts at bay.For Buji, life’s difficulties stem not from being an orphan, but from relentless bullying. Nicknamed “the weakling,” he detests the label but bears it forcefully since he could do nothing.When he transfers to a new school to join his foster sister, Buji thought things would be different. But, during the Awakening Ceremony of the school, he find out a shocking truth: he's was going to be an S-Rank hunter without a talent.Awakening no talent only added more difficulty to his life struggle as he was branded an outcast.On the verge of death during his first raid, Buji awakens an enigmatic system.[Host Found][Survival due to inheritance][Congrats, you have gained the status of a 'player'.][The player, upon leveling up will awaken a potent monster][Class: Animagus | Type: Snake | Aspect: Venom][Do you accept?]Given the choice to embrace a monstrous path, Buji seizes it with unyielding resolve.'If becoming a monster is my only path to strength, I’ll take it—and the world will regret casting me aside. Fighting against these hunters was going to be a job, but imagine a world where I had control over monsters, had my own monster kingdom, and becoming the strongest of all. Stepping on these hunters won’t be a deal anyway.'“Yes!”

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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.”