Mash-Up: I'm Not A Substitute - Chapter 217 - 216: I Consider You a Sister. (2)

〔Congratulations, for mating with a Queen Bee you got a new achievement: ”Not a virgin”! Your reward: “Drone Consort” title.〕‘Hey! I wasn’t a virgin before this, system!’Imagine that you lived a painfully average life, died by a stupid, stupid accident, but a goddess interfered and gave you a second chance in another world.There, you became a consort of a beautiful, big-chested queen, and your only job is to have mind-blowing sex with her so she could have thousands of your adorable daughters. In return, you can live in peace and luxury for the rest of your days.Which means, for about two months. Because I’m a bee. And my queen is also a bee. And bees don’t live for long.The only way to increase my lifespan is to develop my bee colony. A hard task in this huge world filled with dangerous and hungry beasts, other war-hungry insect tribes, and natural disasters.But I have a hundred thousand daughters, some actual brains, and with superior genes given to me by my system, we will be unstoppable!===Note: no NTR, harem, incest, or outright smut.

The weak cry out with all their might, yet no one cares; The strong whisper softly, yet their words penetrate deeply into the heart. A Talent Tree ablaze with flames, every leaf bearing different spirit runes, Lu Ye, reduced to a mining slave after his sect was destroyed, used this to become a cultivator and stirred the winds of change in the Nine Provinces...

I didn’t know this was a world inside a game. And I didn’t know my master was a mid-boss. “No way… wasn’t she supposed to self-destruct because of her personality?!” …I’m sorry.

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.”