The Terminally Ill Young Master of the Baek Clan - Chapter 249

Batman: “You can't deny that your brother, Superman, brought about Zod. The two of them battled and nearly destroyed half of Metropolis. Countless people perished in that disaster—do you want to take a look at the list of casualties that could drown a person?”David: “He was adopted.”The Flash: “Why don't you step up like your brother and lead the heroes on the front lines to protect the world?”David: “I don't possess the same kind of power as he does.”Wonder Woman: “Are you saying that when Superman was punched by Doomsday, you would've gone up there and given Darkseid a round of military combat?”...Transcending into the DC world, David finds himself becoming the newborn son of Superman's foster parents, gaining the Thanos template at birth. Moreover, by influencing the emotions of plot characters, he can accelerate the fusion of templates and unlock new ones?The Hephaestus template—loaded. The template of a million stellar sentinels—loaded! The template of the divine Celestial Arbiter Arithm—complete Phoenix Force template, Golden Planet Devourer template...

What to expect:A long epic progression fantasy with south asian/indian cultivation elements. Lots of action, strong worldbuilding, and a planned story. People die, but no excessive grimdark content. No murderhobo MC. No edgy or whiny or anti-hero MC. No pacifist MC.Cute canine companion

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.”