My Abilities Come with Special Effects - Chapter 551 - : Multi-Armed Divine General and Wood-

In the waves of steam and machinery, who could achieve extraordinary? In the fogs of history and darkness, who was whispering? I woke up from the realm of mysteries and opened my eyes to the world.

What will an ordinary man do if he finds out he is God in an Otome game? Of course, save the game’s Evil character, Morrigan! Unknowingly spread more chaos! Establish your own kingdom! Establish your own religion! Kill the Goddess of Light!

Like most candidates, Zlatan's dream was a simple one. To pass the hunter's test, join a guild, hunt monsters and reach the A-class.Eventually, as he dreamed of, he achieved it hundreds of years later. Having sacrificed more than he could take in, using the most unthinkable and brutal measures, he became an S-class Hunter instead.Obtaining the Copper Flame back then after the Aura Awakening Ritual, that was his greatest flaw. Taking a span of 80 years to reach a D-class. Still, Zlatan Elmore became the most powerful hunter to exist.Falling on the battlefield against a Two-horned Dragon, he suddenly awoke as his 30 year old self. Given another chance at life, he didn't only have his memories but he's also given a Blank Scroll. This mysterious scroll doesn't only speak, its omniscient!

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.”