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... st of the western valley, its rocky walls streaked with rust and shadow, the air thick with dust and the faint hum of Kael’s golden veins. Kael El led a mixed team of 20—Drayce, Veyna, Vren, Jory, Sira, and a squad of militia and Dusk Enclave hunters—tracking the beacon’s signal to its source, a pre-Nexus ruin buried in the canyon’s heart. Stormforged Blade was gripped in his hand, shard-pommel blazing, its hum a fierce song of defiance. EX: Dragonflame Reaver pulsed at his hip, Stormhide Armor ...

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One day, in front of my eyes appeared a silver-haired Goddess.

[Heaven-defying Star. The existence that goes against destiny. The one and only savior of a world that was destined to meet its end—]

What kind of bullsh*t is this woman spouting?

[You must be a regressor.]

“…What?”

No, I’m not.

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In the 21st century, a female military doctor, Lu Jiao, transmigrated into a novel and became the vicious mother of four little villains and the wife of the future First Assistant.

In the novel, the four little ones would grow up into villains who committed all kinds of crimes and killed people without batting an eye. Eventually, they would end up getting killed by the male and female protagonists. To avenge his sons, the First Assistant would transform into the final boss and die after committing many sins.

Lu Jiao looked at the four little ones who were only up to her knees, then looked at the bedridden First Assistant. Forget it, she would do a good deed by educating these children properly and giving the First Assistant medical treatment while she was there.

What she didn’t expect was that the four little villains and the future First Assistant would want nothing more than to send her to her death.

They attempted to strangle her in the middle of the night, use broken pieces of porcelain to slice her arteries, and poison her food. Lu Jiao was furious. “I’m not doing this anymore. If you want to become villains, go ahead.”

However, the four little ones now refused to let her go.

“Mummy, please don’t go. We’ll be obedient from now on.”

Fierce Ex-wife: President, Please Be CarefulChapter 917End - The Promised Sister
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Zhou Youlin, a famous ice queen of the special forces. During an accident in her mission, she was betrayed by her squad mates and was shot twice. She died on the spot. When she woke up again, she became the useless madam of a rice family and was a resentful wife who was neglected by her husband. Her son, too, was neglected.“If I’m not mistaken, we’re already divorced. You’re currently invading my home, my dear ex.” Zhao Youlin raised her chin and sat at the end of the couch with her legs folded. She looked prideful.Mu Tingfeng was expressionless. “We can get married again.”Zhou Youlin quirked her eyebrows. Then, she swung her hand, and a large number of handsome men’s pictures were spread on the table.“Baby, be a good boy and choose someone you like to be your stepdaddy, okay?”Mu Tingfeng’s expression… turned dark.

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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.”