Serial Player - Chapter 1683 - 1219: Trap (4K)_2

In the age of fragmented reading, the warm love life with healing power is well received by readers. Gu Weiyi, is warm, good at study, and handsome. He is tender, caring, good at cooking and can even warm the bed. It is the love life between Gu Weiyi and Momo. Gu tries all means to win Momo’s love, while Momo is slow in love.

- Description from Novelupdates

Light and color, sound and smell;

Food, clothing, housing, mobile phones and computers;

Burn, freeze, rub, explode, thunder, rain, grow, decay;

All material changes and chemical phenomena;

Our bodies, our minds, our world—

All based on electromagnetic interaction!

Whoever can control the electromagnetic force will be the tyrant who dominates the world!

However, electromagnetic force is too profound, so let’s learn how to discharge electricity first…

- Description from novelbuddy

Mortimer Zhu is an extremely unfortunate high school student who accidentally enrolls into an academy of a dubious nature, where it is the norm to jump in front of moving trains, get dismembered during orientation, and crushed by vindictive bouncing classrooms. Can he stay alive or will he die from the rigors of school? Why have evil spirits suddenly acquired a taste for his flesh?

- 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.”