PREVIEW

... Thunder Ancestor sat on the ground, leisurely observing a segment of golden finger bone.

"Hmm?"

The Thunder Ancestor sensed that the monarchs were coming to pay their respects.

"What's going on?" With a single thought, the Thunder Ancestor immediately traced the causality and the traces of time and space. Soon, he understood the conflict that had taken place within the Heavenly Pillar Realm.

"Good, Galaxy!" The Thunder Ancestor roared in anger, "I have already giv ...

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Molitia Clemence was born sickly.

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Molitia barely survived between the thin threads of life and death. When she opened her eyes, she noticed that her husband was somehow acting differently than usual…?!

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MTL - Simulation: Starting From Strange CreaturesChapter 242 Things that shouldn't be there
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The simulation is over, and the entry is obtained: a showdown!

Looking at this entry, Zhao Meng was stunned.

“How should this term be used?”

“Hey! Here’s a wounded fox!”

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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.”