Number One Dungeon Supplier - Chapter 2246 Unexpected Reunion

Welcome Zhang Yu to the art life section of Yangtai. I am the host army!
     The literary world calls your work the peak of God.
     The comic world calls your work insurmountable.
     The music industry calls your work the limit of art.
     The film industry calls your work a box office myth.
     Of course, these are not what I want to ask.
     I want to ask…
     What is it for the sports world?

- Description from uukanshu

“Mm!”A muffled moan, strained with the effort to suppress emotion, escaped.Cheng Yuan finally inserted his penis into the vagina of the beautiful woman he had dreamed of.Incredibly painful!It was even more painful than her first night as a bride!“It's, it's too big…”“Should I pull out?”Pan Cuilian quickly wrapped her arms around Cheng Yuan, kissing him passionately, tears flowing uncontrollably.“Don't be gentle with me! Go hard!”

Humanity has endured for millions of years, but recorded history only spans a mere four thousand years. During that unrecorded deep-sea age, what exactly were we doing?Countless indescribable beings ruled the universe, and our powerful ancestors preserved the fire of human civilization under their threat.Then they disappeared, and we rose.Now, they are coming back, mysterious psychic powers are awakening, the flame of human civilization is slowly extinguishing, and no kings are in sight...Chen Ke opens his eyes to see a world full of ruins and himself on the brink of death.The moment his heart was pierced by the Blasphemous Dagger, he became a dying man without a heart.Able to survive only 2 hours...

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.”