Divine Protection of Many Gods - Chapter 24

What is the experience like after transmigrating into the novel’s foreordained miserable cannon fodder?

Su Zui, who had only ever treated other people as cannon fodder, expresses——

Your father is still your father.

Winning just by laying down, system silently gave his family’s host a call: Papa 666.

Boss: Be good. A single parent family isn’t good for the child. Call me papa number two.

System: ???

Even though the roles assigned are all definitely touching and inevitably miserable cannon fodder, this does not hinder Su Zui’s path on oppressing main leads to the point they question their life.

- Description from Novelupdates

Ethan Smith walked down the empty street, cigarette in mouth, shaking his head and forcing a bitter smile. Who could have imagined that after three years of marriage, all that remained was betrayal?

He vowed to make that woman regret what she had done and promised to make everyone who had been good to him live a good life.

Yes, it was Emily Taylor, the woman who had helped him out of the abyss of despair when he hit the lowest point in his lifetime.

“Emily, it's time for me to take care of you.”

……………………………………………………………

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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.”