My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL} - Chapter 12: Brotherly Instinct...?

“If I do it all over again, give me excellent physical talent, and give me excellent skills, I will definitely be like those historical NBA superstars.”

Lian Dao originally thought that the above imagination would only appear in dreams, but he didn’t expect that such a “good thing” would suddenly happen to him one day.

- Description from novelbuddy

Shenwu mainland, Yangwu worships God. A generation of Tianjiao, Wu Sheng was born again. Too really water, refining the body. Boxing the world, feet and arrogance. The celestial emperor, the law is empty. “Dare to despise the brothers, all killed!” “The woman who dares to move the brother, has been sleeping!” “Brother is just a myth, no one!” – from the quotations of the Emperor Lingfeng. The Supreme Demon is a very popular fantasy fantasy type written by the author, and tells the vivid story of the Supreme Devil.

- Description from zhuishubox (translated)

An unexpected journey took a group of university students into a secret room from which, upon returning, they began to disappear one by one. In order to unravel the mystery, they joined forces, traversing heaven and earth, diving deep into seas, crossing the farthest corners of the world, and even daring to time travel, only to find that behind each puzzle lay yet another.

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.”