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... signer bag gifted to her by Tina. It was her first day coming back to her 'Tina's best friend' role after she was blinded by the cryptid on her sister's apartment. Had that been all, maybe she could have resumed her normal life without thinking much of it.

Being blinded for a short period of time was not unusual for hunters, especially heavenly rank hunters like her.

The problem was that she was also captured by the skinwalkers and she had no one to talk to about it. No one would ...

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After being a young master for more than ten years, he was reborn overnight became a ger who had nothing. This ger was still a lunatic!

Crazy people were hated in the tribe! He was also bullied and robbed! In the end, he was forcibly betrothed to a beastman that he didn’t even recognize.

After accepting the facts tremblingly, Wang Jin began to use the golden finger to reverse the adversity.

Being disliked by others and then becoming everyone’s favorite, snatching back everything that was robbed, as for… the beastman who was forced to marry…

Wang Jin looked at the man who had been standing by his side, and the man felt his gaze, looking back at Wang Jin, his indifferent eyes suddenly became warmer. He stretched out his hand and clasped Wang Jin’s ten fingers tightly, and said softly: “In this life, I only want you alone, no matter whether you are a little lunatic or not.

Wang Jin’s heart skipped a beat.

Forget it, this man… is quite interesting, so let’s keep him!

Years later, Wang Jin was pregnant with a big belly, gnashing his teeth with hatred when he saw the gentle and flattering man in front of him.

We agreed to only be together, and never get pregnant!

A man’s mouth, except for himself, was a deceiving ghost!

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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.”