The Vastness of Magical Destiny - Chapter 184 - 11 The Fisherman

Michael Alastair never mattered. In a world where strength was everything, he was nothing—just another powerless kid, easy to break and easier to forget. When his tormentors finally took things too far, his story should have ended in that alley, bleeding and alone.But fate had other plans.In the void between life and death, a voice spoke. Cold. Sharp. Amused. [NEW TALENT UNLOCKED: WRITER’S LEGACY]. A system unlike any other—sarcastic, relentless, and strangely invested—offered Michael a power beyond reason and a purpose he never imagined. Now, armed with an SSS-rank ability and a mission to rise, he’s back. And this time, he won’t just survive—he’ll rewrite the rules.

At the age of 12, Naruto Uzumaki gained the extraordinary ability to traverse between his home world, the Ninja World, and the mysterious world known as the Soul Society.Naruto's DiaryKonoha Year 63, March 15: I seem to have died [crossed out] I seem to have died and come back to life.Konoha Year 63, March 16: The weight of this new existence crushes him. A return to life offers no solace, and he questions whether it might have been better to remain dead.Konoha Year 63, April 1: Desperation sets in as Naruto searches the Soul Society for his parents, only to discover that this world is not connected to his own. His parents are nowhere to be found.Konoha Year 63, July: The dream of becoming Hokage fades, as Naruto finds himself detached from the village that once held his heart. The desire to become a Shinigami grows stronger within him, spurred by the hope of discovering the true Soul Society of his world and reuniting with his parents.

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.”