MTL - My C.E.O Wife - Chapter 1010 Rebirth

Question, there is a beauty under the starry sky, her black hair looks like eternal night, her bright eyes shine like stars, her powerful magic power makes the world tremble, and her peerless beauty makes all living beings surrender, who is this beauty?

“That’s right, it’s me, the Witch King, Dorothy”

ps: The real name is “Otaku Witch”, a slow-fire setting text, too watery to enter! Don’t like water! Don’t like water!

- Description from novelbuddy

Framed by her so-called best friend and half-sister, Su Qianxun stumbled upon a strange man when she was making her escape. A strange man so handsome it looked as if his face was carved by the Gods, but with a heart as cold as stone. A wild and fiery night ensued, and ever since then, they embarked on a journey filled with passion, lust, conspiracy and treachery.

Name: [Art Tavel (Zhuang Zhou)]

Occupation: [Demon Warlock]

Class: [1]

Bloodline: [Abyss (0.03%), Human (94.97%), Darkness (5%)]

The descendants of the Tavel family, the bloodline of demon warlocks that had declined, had another “dark” bloodline after the arrival of Zhuang Zhou.

With this bloodline, he can summon monsters from the dark world.

The first thing he thought of was not to drive the summons to help fight, but to wonder if the equipment of the dark world would explode after the summons died?

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”