Swallowed Star 2: Land of Origin - Chapter 278 - 40 Ultimate Realm Life Form

After all the things that he had done in his life, Alex realized that it was already his time to die.

Molitia Clemence was born sickly.

She forgot to cover herself with a blanket and caught a cold. She woke up next to her husband after 10 days just because of a slight cold.

Molitia barely survived between the thin threads of life and death. When she opened her eyes, she noticed that her husband was somehow acting differently than usual…?!

***

“Have you eaten?” (Husband)

“Yes.” (Molitia)

“This is the belly of a person who ate?” (Husband)

He frowned as he stroked her flat lower abdomen. He held her wrist carefully, as if it would break. His voice rose.

“Why is your wrist so thin? Are you even human?” (Husband)

“That’s…” (Molitia)

“Butler!” (Husband)

The butler rushed to his angry voice, fidgeting with his wrists.

“Get me food for my wife to eat. Something that will help her stay healthy. Anything is fine.” (Husband)

Molitia’s mouth opened at her husband’s words, but no sound came out. ‘I just had a meal?’

The simulation is over, and the entry is obtained: a showdown!

Looking at this entry, Zhao Meng was stunned.

“How should this term be used?”

“Hey! Here’s a wounded fox!”

…

A few years later, a woman who looked like a fairy appeared in front of him, and said:

“My lord, I’m here to repay my favor!”

This book is also called “Starting from Transforming Monsters”

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”