MTL - Boyfriends Always Turned out to Be a Horror Movie Boss - Chapter 62 Fatal Infection

Yun Xiangxiang was a well-regarded celebrity in her previous life.

Shen Herong, as the most capable handsome boy on the Red Street, is bound to the best male god system.
This journey was supposed to slap the villain in the face crazily, step on the protagonist, and reach the pinnacle of life, but things always went wrong.
#Who is the person who just received the protection fee for the hero and heroine? #
#Who threatened the high IQ villain to do his homework for him? #
#去女朋友家庭Who is the one who recommends himself as a little boy? #
Sorry, as a former bigwig on the red street, Shen Herong said: I have already washed my hands.
It is impossible to counterattack. Only by lying down and winning can you barely maintain your life.
The same type of male protagonist’s point of view “Extreme Male God [Quick Time Travel]” and “Super Male God [Quick Time Travel]”, you can watch it~

- Description from novelbuddy

Marauders shot Yuan in the head and buried him in a ditch. They thought it would be enough to put him down. They were wrong.Rising from the dead by the will of the Gun, demigod of revenge and firearms, Yuan only has one goal in mind: track down his murderers across the Unmade World and slaughter every last one of them. With the bullet-core stuck in his skull marking him as a Gunsoul, he can finally teach these arrogant cultivators a lesson they’ll never forget.But revenge isn’t so easy to claim. To carve out a path through the wasteland, Yuan will have to face power-hungry sects, nuclear cultivators, and weapon-gods. Let them come. No one will bury him again.He’ll give them all a taste of Bullet Hell.

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.”