Otherworldly Desert Dust - Chapter 599 - 553: Slaying High-dimensional Humans_2

Cheng Mingyi was a little lonely throughout his life.

He only brought trouble for the brother who he grew up with and who always had his back. Through fate, due to an accident he became a second generation rich heir, Tan Feiyang. He thought, this time he could repay his Fifth brother.

Jian Ningzhe, became a first class actor with third rated reputation. One day, the infamous Tan Feiyang gave him an olive branch…

Jian Ningzhe refused to accept the hidden meaning behind it. Tan Feiyang “…Did he just ignore my present for him?”

- Description from Novelupdates

In a realm where even the faintest shadows whisper untold tales, I came to realize that the forgotten often hold the most powerful narratives.As an avid admirer of the world's most beloved series, I never imagined that one night's rest would pull me into its very fabric.“Why on earth am I stuck in this world? And why, of all people, am I him?”I had become Arthur Nightingale—Class A’s most unremarkable student. A magic swordsman barely worthy of mention, ranked 8th among the first-years. A mere footnote in the grand story.Still, with this body’s abilities and my own insider knowledge, I figured I could carve out a peaceful life. Or so I believed.“This was the only way,” the voice repeated, resolute. “The only way to stop her.”Little did I know how truly unique Arthur Nightingale was—or the path this journey would force me to take...

One is the gentle and handsome zombie father who has raised her for thousands of years, and the other is the cold and awkward Professor Tianshi who always lectures her. I hate it, why are you digging by Uncle Mei? Jiang Xiaosi bared his teeth, I’ll choose whose blood tastes better… The story of a bouncing little zombie in the Tuoguxiang sex toy store.

- 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.”