MTL - Almighty Dad - Chapter 97 Sick Dad 8(1)

What to do when you find yourself transformed into the vicious female supporting character in a family that dotes on the group pet?Of course, it's to keep away from the protagonist,She's practically the darling of the heavens, with a protagonist halo so strong even a dog would fall for her.Hiss, Bai Zhi said, “Can't compete, can't compete, cherish life, stay away from the protagonist.”All she wanted was to quietly make some small money and live freely, but—Group pet with tearful eyes, “Sister, come back, I'll let you have our brother.”Bai Zhi, “...” No need, I refuse.Group pet with an overflowing Mother Teresa complex, “This was all my fault; please, don't blame my sister!”Bai Zhi, “...” Look at this white lotus script; hey! Where's my knife?—Even more fantastic was when that baby-faced weak little brother suddenly appeared midway and transformed into a boss!Bai Zhi, “???”A new book has started; the Film Emperor's daughter is hibernating again. There are new book activities, sweet, sweet, sweet

35000+ Words Before Lock.THE SLAYER ASCENSION.....In a world where saints are worshipped and demons are hunted, power decides who is holy… and who is damned.I am both.A contradiction.A human blessed by divinity…yet bound to a demon that never sleeps and craves blood.Hunted by demons.Feared by the saints.Watched by beings far older than gods.There is only one way forward…Ascension through slaughter.Every demon I kill drags me further from humanity.Every miracle I wield pushes me closer to damnation.The devil believes he doesn’t feel fear.I will make him prove himself wrong.This is no hero’s story.No one survives untouched.Because this is…THE SLAYER ASCENSIONCheck out the author note in the auxillary chapter before reading, it will clarify few things.

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.”