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... oming cannon blasts resounded. The projectiles shot toward the city barrier, and once they hit—

Boom! Boom!

Explosions roared as the projectiles struck the barrier, creating ripples across its surface. The lightning cannon on the flying fortress began recharging, crackling with energy once more. Though a crack had formed in its structure, it could still fire a lightning beam—albeit at the cost of further damaging its front section.

Baron Rosalind simply let the cannons st ...

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One sunny afternoon, Kyle finally received the admission notice he had longed for and came to Hogwarts, a prestigious school with thousands of years of history.

Here, Kyle lived a very fulfilling life. In addition to studying every day, he would also use his spare time to plant vegetables and flowers, or go to a dark underground chamber to provide psychological counseling to a small animal that had been abandoned for thousands of years. .

Dumbledore: Kyle is a good boy who is upright, brave, kind and sincere.

Professor McGonagall: The Headmaster is right, Kyle never breaks school rules.

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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.”

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