MTL - The King of Special Warfare - v7 Chapter 364 : Gemini

WARNING[R18]“Right now,” Zamian whispered, his voice low and sultry, “I'll make sure you only call my name.”“Z-Zamian, what are you... what are you doing?” she gasped as he pulled her even closer, their bodies fitting together perfectly. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, a magnetic force drawing her in.“Shh,” he whispered against her ear, his breath warm and tantalizing. “Not yet. Save that voice for later.”****Mira Adams, a 19-year-old girl, ran into the forest to escape the death that the war had brought her. Little did she know, she would meet Zamian Zan, a mysterious stranger who took her in for reasons unknown. She escaped the next day.On her 21st birthday, she finally left the small village after pleading with her grandfather, who agreed for reasons she didn’t understand. Little did she know, she was destined to marry the stranger she had met two years earlier.Zamian, now 23, is a CEO and secretly the king of a hidden kingdom. He marries Mira due to a debt her late father owed him, but that wasn't his only reason—he told her he wanted a child from her, though his true motives remain a mystery to her.

One generation’s God King, Tang San, roams the cosmos with a trace of divine consciousness, searching for the world where his wife was reborn. Guided by his divine consciousness, he arrives to a place known as the Daemon Continent. However, to his astonishment, he discovers that in this world, humans are nothing but s*aves and cattle.

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After seeking pleasure in the nightclub and a night of romance, he discovered there’s a seed in his stomach;

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.”