MTL - I Don’t Want To Fight Anymore After Wearing An Outer Room - Chapter 117 lie won

A dancer who was killed by a serial murderer found himself occupying the body and taking on the life of Brian Morse, a patient with anti-social personality disorder. As Brian, he has the look, he has the brain, he has the charisma, but he also has something that somehow always attracts psychopaths…[The story mentions 3 reality shows and crossovers with the American drama series Dexter. SLASH]

- Description from Novelupdates

In order to marry a good husband, Liu Yuru had been a model lady for 15 years; but on the eve of her engagement, she was forced to marry Gu Jiusi, a well-known playboy from Yangzhou.

To marry such a person was to ruin one’s life.

Especially because after marriage, she learned that this person was also forced to marry her.

Liu Yuru was heartbroken, and after locking herself in the room for three days, she came to a realization.

Marrying such a dandy, why should she remain a perfect young lady?

So on the third day of marriage, the famously gentle lady shook her hands, carried a knife, and used all her courage to go to the brothel.

To the drunken Gu Jiusi, she said –

Get up!

After that, Gu Jiusi’s life was full of ups and downs.

Whether he was a miserable dandy or a great official, this woman stood beside him.

She supported him with her weak and delicate body, and told him, “get up.”

So even if he was cut to pieces, he would struggle from the mud, grit his teeth, carry her on his back, and walk through this life.

For the first 15 years of Liu Yuru’s life, she thought she was living only to find a good man.

It wasn’t until she met Gu Jiusi that she understood that a good man would help you realize that you live only for yourself.

— May this body of flesh and blood shield her from the wind and rain, protect her dress from dust, and protect her temples from frost.

- Description from Novelupdates

The Third Dimension is collapsing. The Fourth Dimension is descending.

First it seemed that only technology would evolve, but who knew the world itself could too? It wasn’t as simple as climate change or tectonic movement. No, the fundamental laws of physics that governed everything were changing.

Leonel was fairly lucky. His family was decently well off, his father loved him enough to brew vomit inducing nutrient rich smoothies every morning, and this was both the day of the National Championship and his 521st confession to his dream girl, Aina. As his father always said, nothing was more important than respect and persistence.

Unfortunately, everything changed that night. At the after party of ages, the world reached a saturation point and an apocalypse descended.

Abilities awakened. Sub-Dimensional Zones opened. Invalids rampaged through the Earth like a virus…

Those who could evolve would have a slim chance for survival. Those who couldn’t would die.

This novel will be a unique spin on the dungeon/system genre. Dungeons won’t be dungeons and the system won’t be a system… Take a look to find out what I maen :)

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.”