The Last Primal - Chapter 902 902 - Brothers

«Abbot Xinzi, by decree of the Celestial Grandmaster, hunt down the protagonists, snatch their women and destroy their destiny!»

In a world where demons walk among men and mystical beasts run amok, Xinzi, outer disciple of the White Immortal sect, must compete against his peerless senior brother to become the Sword Fairy’s dual cultivation partner. Failure isn’t an option.

But when the truth of his mysterious past resurfaces, and his identity clashes with the succeeding protagonists, will our monk hold on to the last embers of his humanity or sink…into utter depravity?

Follow Xinzi as he subdues the succeeding protagonists, corrupts their beauties, and bestows green hats on the path to attain Sainthood and establish a Paradise of Faith in Debauchery.

A young love leads to a lifetime of entanglements. Zhao Mo Sheng is a university student with a sunny disposition. The bright and cheerful Mo Sheng fell in love at first sight with He Yi Chen, one of the top students from the Law Faculty. However, his poor communication skill, makes her depart sadly for overseas. Seven years later, Zhao Mo Sheng returned home and spotted him immediately in a crowded supermarket, …….

This is a very short and sweet story about two college sweethearts, who separated on a bitter note but fate tosses them together again seven years later.

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.”