In the World of Sword and Magic as Space Marine - Chapter 19: Penitent Engine

How wise is it to make an enemy of the divine. In the end, there a fine line between the divine and human...and to cross it is the biggest taboo a living thing can commit.But this was one Tabbo he was willing to cross._________Kyle Armstrong was a man who could do anything...in his past life. He climbed up to the pinnacle of power using his sheer determination and ruthlessness. However, because of God's who did not want the likes of him around, he failed.Everything was supposed to be over for him...until he got a second chance at life. However, there was a catch-he was throne in a new world that was similar, yet different to his previous one.Here, he must occupy the body of a Useless noble master and regain all he has lost....while also battling all the people who want him out of the way to claim his inheritance.The battle to glory and godhood is not an easy one, and the road is filled with lood. But Kyle has already overcome all this once. A second time will pose to not be a problem for him.______r18 is mainly gore...and MC's tendencies. You have been warned.

Throughout heaven and earth, I alone am powerful

A world filled with heroes with superpowers. A world attacked by calamity fiends. A modern world filled with wonders and dangers.

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.”