After Wearing a Book, I Pampered Five Big Villains - Chapter 542: dark clouds over the city

He died on the wedding of the girl he had a crush on, after a long and successful career. After convincing Yama to send him back to the world, he decides to fix the areas in which his life went wrong. Realizing the lack of love and romance in his past life, he sets out to conquer the hearts of various women.

What happens when one eats Death?

Personally, I don’t really know. What I do know is merely one thing.

I’m hungry.

Therefore, I’ll take the heads of these guys and deliver them to my superiors.

Surely, I’ll be able to eat delicious food.

Come, if preparations are in order, we depart.

When I transmigrated, the protagonist was already dead.Now, I have to protect the world after the bad ending.So first things first, I became the enemy of the main heroine, who was on the brink of ending her life.“I finally understand what all those things you said really meant.”“I’m like this because of you, junior. Take responsibility.”“I can only sleep when I’m next to you.”…But for some reason, everyone is starting to act a little strange.

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.”