Why is My System Glitching - Chapter 95: A Favored Guest

[The End of Full Text]“From just now, you've been looking at me with such malicious intent. Are you perhaps reminiscing about...the old dream of the night before last?” Liang Chen forcefully pulled Jing Haohao into the washroom.“I told you, what happened a few days ago was an accident. I'm not the kind of woman you can just casually touch!” Jing Haohao shook off the hand he had grasped onto her wrist, turned to leave, but was abruptly caught by Liang Chen. He lowered his head to her ear, a mischievous smile on his lips, cryptically saying: “Don't worry, if I can't casually touch, then I'll be serious when I do!”

Come here folks, let me tell you a wondrous story about a bizarre world.

A world with two moons and three suns.

A world where death is never the end and birth is just the beginning of misery.

A world filled with stories of love, war, and betrayal.

A world where the gods are bored of the mundane as much as you.

And then there is I, the maestro of this bizarre world that exists solely to entertain you.

So follow me and enjoy the misery as much as I do.

*****

A mentally ill man who only finds the meaning of life in twisted entertainment stumbles upon the supernatural world. A world full of chaos, and entities that can cause one to go mad. But what if you are mad to begin with.

Let’s watch our Jester as he crafts entire plays to entertain an audience that only exists in his head.

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The dark underground dungeon was filled with countless ancient relics and treasures. Eerie, deformed, cursed objects... The abyss, catacombs, Ancient Gods, mythical races... Mechanics, cursed seal implants, and the gargantuan black towers... A peculiar mix of Alchemy, a drop of steampunk, two spoons of supernatural mystery, blending into a vibrant and colorful fantasy world. I am a puppeteer Alchemist. All that my eyes behold, becomes my puppet. Alone, I am an army!

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.”