Night Without End - Chapter 613 - 337: All Slain (Part 2)

In the Wild Westlands, the Sanctuary of Spirits is the base for the elite Celestial Beast Sect. “”Hurry, Huang Yingyan, or we’ll lose our chance at the best Divine Pets!”” Tang Jinghuan urges, pulling his friend in a time-critical dash.Huang Yingyan, who overslept from the thrill of gaining a mysterious system and the Omniscient Eye skill, falsely blames his delay on Tang Jinghuan. This skill lets him see the untapped potential in divine pets, essential for aspiring Beastmasters.In their excitement, they reach the selection, where Huang Yingyan’s skill initially finds no special pets—until a unique, snow-white cub draws his attention, neither tiger nor lion, with a somber air.As they face their choices, anticipation hangs thick. Can Huang Yingyan’s skill reveal the cub’s mystery, changing his destiny as a Beastmaster?

[December/January WPC Entry, support it by adding it to your library or giving powerstones]

Kaine didn't have the best life on earth: no friends, no family, no lover.

The only thing that he liked was the novel he read daily, “Descent of the Heavenly Demon”.

But what was Kaine's reaction when an astral entity told him that he died in his sleep and that he would be reincarnated somewhere with a system.

As you guessed it, he is now in the world of the novel he read with all the information he needs to live a good life.

But...

[Anger issues detected, rewarding accordingly]

“What do you mean anger issues?”

[Hatred System activated.]

……………………………………………………………

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After the divorce, I amazed the world with my child.Forced into marriage, Ning Yichu always thought that Li Linyang hated her as his wife, until one night when he got drunk and cornered her with red eyes, “Ning Yichu? The one I damn well want is Ning Yichu!”Ning Yichu believed it to be true and sweetly managed their marriage, only to be met with a divorce agreement.Five years later, she returns gloriously with a new book “The Years My Ex-husband Couldn't”, alongside a pair of genius twins. She effortlessly navigates the jewelry world, becoming a top-notch jade carving artist, winning awards left and right. Countless socialites are willing to spend extravagantly for her work, causing a sensation online.What? The green tea is sick and dying, wanting her help? No way!What? The scumbag ex-husband is kneeling at the door begging for reconciliation? Let him go.But what's with this scumbag ex-husband? She finally found a tall, rich, and handsome man to be the stepdad for her kids, yet this bastard keeps causing trouble every day!“Wife, today you held Mo Boyou's hand once, met him seven times, spoke 327 words with him!”“Go away, we already divorced. Next, I'm not only going to hold his hand, meet, and speak with him, but also hug, kiss, and walk into the hall of marriage...”The scumbag ex-husband rages, veins popping.She thought he was going to hit her, but instead, he turned and stuffed a cute little girl into her arms, saying pitifully, “Wife, I was wrong. Our daughter cannot live without mommy. Please give me another chance!”The adorable little girl looks on pitifully, “Mommy, please love, please caress, please don't abandon me!”OMG! When did you steal one of my babies?

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.”