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... them had given in to despair.

Within this pandemonium, however, one crewmate retained a modicum of composure. He shook in his boots to be sure, and it was only through superhuman effort that he managed to choke down a scream, but he did not give in to the smog of terror that clouded over the ship. This sailor, shivering but resolute, held on to his phone and silently recorded the happenings before him. The Lovecraftian monster was perfectly captured in high definition.

“As long as… ...

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Gu Yuanyaun had transmigrated inside a currently popular novel. She transmigrated into the body of a woman that carried the same name as her. Coincidentally, the woman already had four sons but was forcibly separated from them by an accident and ended up with a miserable ending.

As time gradually passed by, it was always accompanied by change. The four sons grew up and became successful individuals. They became the bosses on their own chosen fields while on the contrary, their mother, Gu Yuanyuan, instead turned into a teenager which was even younger than her sons.

Seeing that the hurdle was too high, Gu Yuanyuan, who became a pea princess on the story, decided to find her four sons.

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The second son was a legendary medical doctor.

The third son was a martial arts prodigy.

And lastly, the fourth son was a genius professor.

Gu Yuanyuan smiled with a kind face and said: “Dabao, Erbao, Sanbao, and Xiaobao. I’m your mother”

Looking at their mother’s appearance that could be mistaken as their own daughter’s, the four big sons was: “…???…”

- Description from Novelupdates

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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.”