Devouring The Heavens - Chapter 7 – Too Soft

Lin Qian once thought the man she wanted would be handsome and formidable, able to “create clouds with one turn of the hand and rain with another turn” in the business world, causing her to look up to him in admiration. There would be nothing he could not accomplish.

As Yun Xiao's soul soared into the heavens after his death, he made a startling discovery—the vast world in which he had lived for sixteen years astonishingly resembled a colossal tomb! Beneath it lay an ancient bronze coffin, vast as the boundless seas, radiating an overwhelming miasma. Every piece of land was but a handful of dirt atop this enormous coffin. The billions of living souls unknowingly thrived and multiplied within this graveyard soil.

Inside the massive casket rested the body of an Immortal. His eyes were as deep as the underworld, his mouth reminiscent of the Yellow Springs, his hair flowed like a majestic dragon, and his body spanned across a million mountain ranges. Which celestial deity from ancient times could be resting here for eternity?

Refusing to let himself fade away, Yun Xiao's soul entered the body of the Immortal. With the world's Divine Pillar as his sword and the vast continents as his seals, he and the coffin embark on a journey through the Immortal path, seeking enlightenment and challenging the heavens!

JL: The novel might start out as your bog-standard revenge-plot, reincarnation story. But the execution is solid, and there's plenty of satisfying face-slapping moments throughout. But what makes it really interesting is that the author eventually starts subverting expectations in really interesting ways. So, if you're a long time reader of the community, and want to try something familiar with a refreshing twist, give this story a shot!

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Only problem? He’s the one who winds up the damsel in distress!

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.”