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... ook, the plant hunter, was walking at the forefront, looking at the sand-like spikes growing out of the yellow sand, and reminded him at the exit.

When everyone heard this, they immediately became slightly alert.

Then, they bypassed the thorny grass with sandy needles and continued to walk forward.

"Here is a pair of shoes, which should have been left by the previous expedition team."

Just a few hundred meters away, Gai Lu's arm suddenly turned into a long snake, shot ...

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The Fu family in Liushan Village has had boys for generations, and was so poor that only boys were left, and they finally hoped for a daughter. As soon as the little girl was born, the grandmother who was almost dead was so happy that she recovered from her illness; as soon as she went out to pick up things and found her hands were soft, all the birds and animals flying in the sky, swimming in the water, and running in the mountains fell in front of her, like a pie falling .

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The traitor Gu Mang returned to his home kingdom again. Everyone rejoiced in his banishment. It was said the one who hated him most was his closest friend – the cold and stoic Young Master Mo.

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As if it wasn’t enough for me to be reincarnated as a child in the slums, I was taken to a city of crime and became a test subject. But then, when I saw the man that came to destroy the research institute, I realized that this was the world of an angst-filled reverse harem novel.

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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.”