The Transmigration Routine of Always Being Captured by ML - Chapter 66

Because of a mission, Bruce White entered prison as a criminal, but his family was abused and bullied as a result. After three years of life in prison, he finally completed his mission. Yet, he received truly shocking news when he came out of prison. His father had passed away, his mother went missing, but he knew nothing about it. Filled to the brim with rage and grief, Bruce gathered his forces and headed towards the city as fast as possible.

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A mortal teenager strayed into the immortal way because of an accident, struggling on the road of seeking immortality.

Immortal Road is difficult to climb to the sky, in the face of numerous obstacles, his desire to seek the truth is still unabated.

Looking back again, the green mountains are still there, so the old is boneless.

- Description from novelbuddy

Afterlife wasn't something that he had thought about, or maybe he had, the downside of being thrust into a new world with your memories wiped and having no recollections of any dreams was disorienting....but then again he chose this path, now in a sexualized version of the original novel. How much can magic, which depends on strong emotions could be driven by Lust and Desire?Warning! The story contains and centers around Smut, there is plenty of plot to go around, but if you want to avoid the smut entirely, it might be a little difficult!!

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.”