MTL - Fight To the Third Generation - Chapter 932 Temperament background has not kept up

Nanaya traveled to the Naruto world and survived the Uchiha genocide incident.As long as he sleeps, he can become stronger and invincible.After accumulating 60,000 hours of sleep, Nanaya opened the Sharingan and activated the ability of the Ice Fruit.Itachi: I didn't find his existence on the night of the extermination. Who is it?Sasuke: Nanaya, my Amaterasu's black flames can burn all visible objects, otherwise they won't go out.Next second!“What, Nanaya, you guy, actually froze my black flames.”Pain: That guy just slept for a second in the gap between Shinra Tensei, and the power to wake up is above me.Madara: I can't dance in front of that man.Kaguya Otsutsuki: My world of ice can't even live up to that sentence, ahhhhh!Uchiha Nanaya, with a pair of Mangekyo Sharingan, changes the past and reverses the future.

Mo Chou is the no.1 ranking female assassin in an illusive organization. One day on the way to the organization after completing a mission, she dies. She is shocked when reincarnates into her favorite novel but as a villainess who is the protagonist's step sister and dies a miserable death. She just wants to live a cushy and comfortable life so she decides to completely avoid the red flags aka the main characters and live like a saint (well a saint who is an assassin) But why does she keep stumbling into the main characters especially that infuriating villain and why the heck are they clinging onto her?

The horror game anchor Xiao Tangqiu crossed into a horror game.

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.”