Aetheral Space - Chapter 403:13.61: Accursed

In a world steeped in tradition and shadowed by secrets, a young girl’s life is torn apart when her family is destroyed, and her heritage stolen. Her father, in his final act, seals away a legendary power and treasure, leaving her with nothing but cryptic clues and a burning desire for vengeance.With a blade in her hand and rage in her heart, she embarks on a perilous journey, unraveling the dark conspiracies that surround her family's legacy. As she faces deadly foes and unearths long-buried truths, she must decide whether to unlock the immense power her father protected—or let it remain hidden.Her path is one of blood, betrayal, and redemption. Will she rise above the chaos, or will the weight of revenge consume her? Witness the making of a legend in this gripping tale of sacrifice and retribution.

The clock struck midnight when Ruelle heard the echo of footsteps. She tensed, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end in the cool night air.“You shouldn't be here,” Ruelle whispered, her voice a breathless murmur. The silhouette finally came to stand under the moonlight, his dark red eyes watching her and his inky black hair ruffling.“Shouldn't I?” His voice was a dark caress, and she stood there captivated by the danger he exuded like perfume.“I haven’t seen you for the last two days,” his tone low. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the silk of her nightgown, tracing the trembling outline of her collarbone. “Tell me, were you avoiding me, or perhaps... entertaining other offers?”Ruelle’s heart raced, her breaths shallow. She declared, “I don't belong to anyone.”“A bold claim,“ he murmured, his breath a tantalising chill against her skin as he leaned in. ”Yet here you are, pulse racing, your body tensed as if in anticipation of my touch.”His fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face towards his. The moonlight caught his eyes, revealing a glint of predatory intent. “Or must I remind you whose touch you truly crave?”

Sang Qianqian, the eldest daughter of the Sang family, was eighteen when she fell in love with Shen Hanyu at first sight.”I love you, Shen Hanyu.” “But I don’t,” Shen Hanyu replied ruthlessly, his every word determined. “Not now, not ever.”

Furious, the wealthy daughter planned her revenge against Shen Hanyu but somehow discovered that he would eventually become a cold-blooded, tyrannical big-shot who would destroy her family! Her spite towards him skyrocketed, but after she left, he missed Sang Qianqian like crazy, who was now leading a carefree life after moving far away and faking her death. Suddenly, she heard the news that Shen Hanyu, now a magnate and seemingly crazier, had her grave exhumed and was now on the search for her. Alarmed, she quickly packed up her things to go on the run again… only to find the man himself standing outside her door, breathing through gritted teeth, “Running again? Go for it.”Knowing that escape was futile, Sang Qianqian changed her approach and tried to charm her way out of the dangerous situation, only to fail and end up submitting herself.***

Years later, realizing she had been tricked, Sang Qianqiang threw the divorce papers in front of Shen Hanyu. “I want a divorce!”Shen Qianyu simply pulled her into his arms and leaned in for a kiss. Pulling away after a long while, he asked hoarsely, “Still want a divorce?”Left dazed by the kiss, Song Qianqian mumbled, “N-No…” “Then call me darling.” “D-Darling…”Shen Hanyu nodded in satisfaction. “Good girl.”

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.”