Parasite Breeding Longveity Path: Starting from breeding the love Obsession parasite - Chapter 142 - : The Refinement of Dragon Elephant Gu, Body Foundation Establishment !

They took everything from him...His name, his home, and even his money.Beaten, betrayed, thrown and abandoned like trash.Ryan is left with nothing.But in a world where power is the only law, the powerless don’t just survive… they hunt.The weak don’t beg for mercy.They return with a knife...[Ding!][You have awakened 'The Villain System']And this was his knife.-------------Discord: https://discord.gg/CXs4Wz9aad

Aidan was thrust into this word of death and magic against his will. He was weak, Frail and pathetic but his unyielding hardwork led him to the peak where he sits unrivaled, Now he tries to find other ways to cure his unending bordom.Netorase—Netorare—Overpowered—Harem—Elf’s—Giants—Incest—

Song Cheng transmigrated and became a blind errand boy in a medicine shop in a remote town.Fortunately, after he found a wife who did not disdain him, his “Golden Finger” also followed.Demons and ghosts roamed the Chaotic World, Profound Techniques went with Occult Sciences, Divine Weapons dazzled the cosmos, the Yin and Yang were inexhaustible.Song Cheng did not seek to dominate as a king, he simply wished to live his life well....This is the story of a person with Longevity, who walked through long years and witnessed innumerable Dynasties.

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.”