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... ?”

“Mmm. There’s a lot to pick from.”

Mel beamed, and slapped Zoey's shoulder. “Stop it, you flirt. Here. In my opinion, it’s this.” Mel’s hand slid to the top of Zoey’s cock, the base of her palm positioned flat against the tip. Zoey got the briefest inkling of what was about to happen, and then Mel pressed down.

Zoey’s cock sank into the sticky substance, slowly filling up Mel’s arm. She groaned in pleasure. The feeling was incredible: warm, tight, sticky, gripping to h ...

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“I shall not yield to fate nor destiny. I will create my legacy.” Yang Wei said as he stared at the clear blue sky.

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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.”

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Back in 1998, an ordinary person who has been through, tired, cried, and fought, hopes to run down-to-earth and keep up with the trend of the times.

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