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... p> Not through logic, not by thought; her body just... stiffened.

Everything slowed. Not in the dreamy way stories describe, but like when your heart skips and your body is too frozen to react. Just locked in place, breath caught somewhere between panic and surrender.

Satteus moved.

"Arvia!" he roared, his voice sharp—raw—like a thundercrack slicing through a thick fog.

That sound—his voice—snapped something in her. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing unti ...

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“Lord God is unattainable.” The system vowed.

“Can you take me home?” The icy Lord God tilted his head, his long eyelashes drooped, his eyebrows beautiful, and he begged her.

“?”

“The gods will be blackened, and it is a arduous project to redeem him,” the system said.

then……

The fireman came from the fire, hugged the little cartoonist, lowered his eyes and smiled: “Would you like to draw me for a lifetime?”

The sports student pinched the deflated can in one hand, stared lazily at the slender dancer like a white swan, and said in a low voice, “I want you to dance and show me.”

In the interrogation room, the indifferent and sharp commander took off his black leather gloves, his badge was sharp in color, and his thin lips parted lightly: “Place me.”

system:”……”

Turn a blind eye to you who should cooperate with my performance.

#Strongly twisted melon is not sweet

#forever overturning

There is a god above the nine heavens, and the white clothes are as unattainable as snow.

later,

The gods had delusional thoughts, and since then fell, only one person was blessed.

[1v1 Shuangjie sweet pet, the male and female protagonists have no memory in double slices, and the sick Jiaoyu sister and the lady’s milk buns have everything]

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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.”