Second Life Ranker - Chapter 696 - Egg (4)

In the King’s game, the [King]’s order is absolute and has the power to create rules. As the owner of a special physique, Gu Huai was selected by the system to participate in the game.

The whole world mutated. Mysterious resurrections happened in real life. The Tribulation descended.

Situ Xin was highly intelligent, but because she had been an orphan since a young age, she was quite unemotional.During her last mission, she was betrayed by “one of her own.” As her soul was in the process of Soul Formation, she was saved by the Phoenix Jade Pendant she wore, allowing her to be reborn as a fetus in her mother's womb. Moreover, she carried a space with her.Let's see how she lives a different life after being reborn in 1988.A new work by Ai Guo—Rebirth: Not To Be Cannon FodderIntroduction: Mi Zhiyao, the heir of the mysterious and ancient Aristocratic family—the Mi Family, woke up from her sleep, only to inexplicably become another Mi Zhiyao from a different time and space, who committed suicide for love in the Mi Family.The same name and a similar status, but two completely different personalities.Watch as Mi Zhiyao fiercely dumps her scumbag fiancé, deals with her greedy cousin, and then leads the once-declining Mi Family back to the pinnacle of their family.

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.”