Villain: The Play of Destiny - Chapter 437

The handsome, noble, cold, and ruthless family heir Ignatius Leclair took a liking to the fostered girl Delphine Carter in his home.From then on, the aloof man transformed into a loyal companion, taking care of children, cooking... The entire aristocratic circle was utterly shocked, with everyone envying.Delphine Carter smiled serenely: cunning, energetic, vengeful, a different persona by day and night.[Reading Tips: 1V1, both protagonists are pure, sweet story, the heroine is beautiful.]

“So basically... I'm a Necromancer from my game... in this world?”“...And I'm useless?”“Yeah, right.”---Alexander never expected his dull life to change—until a single message appeared. What seemed like a prank or an ARG from his game became something far more real.He transmigrates.Now, in the body of Asher Morgan, a nineteen-year-old with a lonely past. His plan? Stay under the radar, play it safe, and live like he always had—a gamer, a slacker.But fate had other plans.At Velcrest Academy’s Inauguration Ceremony, where students awaken their powers, Asher receives the worst possible class.“Outcast. Worthless.”That becomes his new name—until fate decides to change plans.The system glitches.—[ERROR… ERROR… Recalculating Awakening Process…][Hidden Ability Detected—Reawakening Process Initiated][SSS-Ranked Ability Unlocked: Sovereign of the Dead][Secret Evolution Triggered—Job Upgraded: Lord of Draconic Souls]—At first, he is frustrated, but then, he remembers....if the old Asher had lived to see this moment, he would have been miserable, abandoned, and forgotten.He reluctantly accepts his fate, ready to prove them all wrong.

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.”