I Transmigrated Into a Novel and Became the Vicious Stepmother of Five Cute Babies - Chapter 308 - Respect Between Brothers

Louise Evardon's life takes a dark and twisted turn when she agrees to marry and discovers her husband's haunting past— all of his previous wives are dead.But that isn't what she has to worry about as someone is trying to get rid of her, and she needs to save herself before history repeats itself again.

There once was a very popular question on the internet:

If one morning, you woke up and realized that your gender had changed, what would be your first reaction?

And someone on the internet had famously responded:

First, give your bros a good time!

Su Jian remembered that when he saw this reply, he had slapped the table to express his admiration. What a good bro! Such loyalty!

But now that he actually encountered this strange situation himself, he could only feel an extremely ball-breaking alarm, shocked grief, and frightened anger. **** your mom! Ah, ****! **** it!

Oh, a correction. The above is grammatically incorrect. After all, poor Classmate Su Jian doesn’t have balls anymore.

After dying, I woke up as a weak goblin.

To survive, I have to destroy, consume, and evolve off of other monsters.

From the ugly guy to the king who rules everything!

Second novel by Author before EER

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.”