MTL - I, The System Maker! - Chapter 150

The most fucked-up separation in the world, is that there is a baby in your belly when you break up with someone.

Bo Yu draws on his cigarette, slowly puffing out the smoke, and looks at the little boy lying in bed with deep eyes.

Two years later, he finally comes back.

- Description from Novelupdates

[Initializing Harem System of the Demonic Dragon God]“Damn! I was right!”He received the greatest gift of all, a System!A world of cultivation, where the strongest rule! The man took the place of Strax Vorah, a noble abandoned by his family that worships the Sword.With an insane desire to become the strongest of all, he now wants to have the most powerful wives!________________Additional tags: Fantasy - Adventure - Action - Romance - Harem - R18 - No NTR - No Yuri - Weak to Strong - Bloodlines - Evolution

Ai Qian, a street-crazy author who wakes up every day because of her own poverty, is bound by the system!
The system is obedient: Host, you are the daughter of a rich family, you are a billionaire female president, you are a superstar… Are you happy?
Ai Qian: Hehe, I might be happier if there is no hero who can kill me at any time.

- 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.”