The Man Picked up by the Gods - Volume 4 - Chapter 13

The novel is about an author who was reincarnated into his novel.This author thought that he would become a hero, like he always wished, but no, his fate was to become a Villain.His fate was to fight against humanity and against the supreme beings who were planning to invade the world.

After transmigrating to a world similar to Earth, Jiang Qiao was approached by a former goddess—Ocean Blue. As Bluestar is also on the verge of collapse from invaders of other worlds, Jiang Qiao must find a way to save this one. With the ability to create a virtual game world, he creates the world of Sacred Souls. In order for this new world to grow, it has to devour other worlds. Thus, the greediest, most cunning, and horrible beings came into existence—Players.

“World” is a game renowned for its remarkable freedom.

In “version 3.0”, I made the decision to maximize my focus on boosting magical abilities!

All stats now revolve around magic! But In turn, I embraced a substantial number of disadvantageous traits.

However, that is inconsequential. I am determined to forge the ultimate Wizard character, It matters little whether the character’s outward appearance resembles a walking corpse.

Yet… What is this?

I have suddenly transformed into that very character – a character with prodigious talent, yet unable to survive a single day without relying on drugs.

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.”