Netori: Stealing The Hero's Party! - Chapter 7: Reunion With Party Members

In the next life time, he would absolutely not become an author.
He would once again be cursed to the danger of crossing over into a book.
During the time when he broke free of his shell, what he first saw was just the handsome, handsome male lead that he had written.
During the time when the male lead was pinching the small soft flesh of his neck, it was also his first time hearing the male lead’s voice.
“Return goods,” the male lead said in this way toward the vendor stall’s owner.
Pei Bufan: “…… meow?”

- Description from Novelupdates

Li Xu occasionally got a sign-in system, and his life has been different from now on. Enjoy life, look at the scenery, sign in, spring flowers bloom, and face the sea.

- Description from novelbuddy

Chu Huai was parasitized by a ghost, he became weak and frail, soon afterward he died.

After entering the horror world, Chu Huai was harmoniously transformed into a man in women’s clothes.

On the first day of the instance. Everyone stares blankly at Young Lady Huai, who was holding the quilt calmly climbed onto the man’s bed: “I’m a little afraid of the dark and ghosts, can I sleep with you?”

Jin Tianyi: “…” I’ll pretend not to know that you are a man.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”