MTL - Interstellar Cute Little Husband - Chapter 8 own house

Alex was an ordinary teenager—until the day he discovered his ability to drain energy from the dead. With powers rooted in death itself, Alex hides his necromancy behind a normal life, secretly entering deadly portals to fight monsters and earn money. But beneath the surface, a darker truth lingers—his parents's death and his powers are linkedAs he harnesses his necromantic abilities, draining the fallen to grow stronger, the weight of his power begins to take its toll—and the line between the living and the dead starts to blur.With enemies closing in and betrayal around every corner, Alex must master his growing abilities before they consume him—or worse, before the forces hunting him claim everything he has left.When death becomes your greatest weapon, how long can you survive before it turns against you?---

As an author who transmigrated into her own abusive novel, Shi Luo didn’t feel any pressure from it. Besides, it’s not like she transmigrated into the female protagonist who got abused physically and mentally anyway. And so she decided there was nothing she had to do, all she had to do was just to watch it unfold in front of her eyes.

But this development seems a bit wrong! Wasn’t this supposed to be an abusive novel? How unlucky!

- Description from Novelupdates

[By the Author that brought you “Martial God Regressed to Level 2” & “The Swordmaster Who Returned After 1,000 Years”]A year has passed since the world turned into one ruled by hunters, and suddenly, I awakened.But that’s not all.I possess an extra status window that even includes a built-in strategy guide.

[Longevity + Discipleship + No Female Lead + Lighthearted Humor with No Tragic Moments]When his master picks food, he spins the table there;When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.