Heavenly Opposers - Chapter 190 -Back Home.

I, Ning Daoran, have achieved what I have today step by step, relying solely on my own efforts!

Humanity was on the brink of destruction. Muyoung, an assassin from the Forest of Death, fell to his knees. There were corpses all around him. For years, he had worked for the Forest of Death and had finally been able to eradicate them. Now, he, himself, was about to die. He closed his eyes as he felt his heart stop beating.

Who will tell her what happened?

Is she wilding a child in the wilderness? The child’s umbilical cord was bitten off by a mutant mouse, my God, what’s going on?

Yin Xuehan was trembling to deal with the umbilical cord problem for the child, but she felt pain in her stomach again. This is another…

At this time, the voice of the system came, and she actually gave birth live in the wilderness?

Is this the rhythm of going crazy? This world actually relies on live streaming and doing quests to earn points, God, please save her, she brought her two cubs into such a difficult wilderness dungeon at the beginning.

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”