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... e corpse mountain and blood?

Who is not the years that have gone through thousands of years and tens of thousands of years?

Having lived for so long, if he were still like those hundred-year-old youngsters, he would have been dead for a long time.

Those who live to this stage are old and hidden.

As for the hatred, he just looks arrogant on the outside, but when he meets Chen Ming's ontology, he instantly put away his arrogant temperament. He understands that he can on ...

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I watch him, his green eyes brimming with concern as he gently massages my scarred leg. The sensation is both soothing and a stark reminder of my own inadequacy. The once-feared Crimson General, a symbol of power and invincibility, is now nothing but a frail shadow of his former self. I’ve been abandoned, left to decay in this forsaken place, my family and comrades long forgotten. Darkness had become my only solace, and I had resigned myself to it.Then he arrived, a beacon of light in my endless night. His presence, his care—it’s more than I ever deserved. Yet, I find myself clinging to him with an intensity that borders on madness. I hate that I need him so desperately, that his every action and word have become my lifeline. It consumes me, a torment I can't escape.“You don't have to do this. Please, don’t do this. I’m nothing. You deserve better. Leave. Please,” I beg, my voice trembling with raw anguish, the very words tearing me apart.He continues his work, seemingly unaffected by my pleas.“Why are you here? Look at me! I’m nothing.”Desperation and anger swell within me, mixing into a maelstrom of anxiety. I can’t comprehend the emotions coursing through me.“You're my alpha, where else would I be?” he responds softly, his gaze unwavering, as if my pleas were mere background noise.My heart races, torn between overwhelming relief and paralyzing dread. In that moment, I realize the truth: you would have to tear him from my cold, lifeless arms. I’m never letting go.General Thorne, betrayed and broken, finds new life and love with Omega Noelle, who nurses him back to health. Their deepening bond reveals Thorne’s softer side, offering a chance at happiness. Unfortunately, Thorne’s past soon catches up with them, threatening their newfound peace.

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Ethan Cross was just an ordinary college student in his past life—until he died trying to save a banker playing hero. Now, he finds himself reincarnated in “New World”, a realm plagued by Dread Beasts, where only those who awaken Aethermarks can become Heroes.But there’s a problem.Ethan has awakened as an E-rank Hero, the weakest tier, cursed with only one ability slot—a death sentence for any aspiring warrior. With no powerful clans willing to recruit him and the world already looking down on him, his future seems bleak.Until he discovers his Innate Talent: Sanctum of Beasts.This mysterious power grants him access to a personal dimension, where he can hunt endless waves of Dread Beasts. Unlike the real world, slaying them in this space drops Ability Fragments, which he can combine to gain abilities without slot restrictions. Even better? Time flows differently—he can train for days, yet only an instant passes in reality.Determined to rise from nothing, Ethan embarks on a secret journey to accumulate power. But as he completes missions and unravels the truth about the Black Pits, he realizes there’s something far more sinister lurking beneath the surface.The Hero Association hides dark secrets. Villains roam freely in the shadows. And Dread Beasts may not be the mindless creatures everyone believes them to be.With powerful enemies watching his every move, Ethan must play a dangerous game—remain unnoticed or become the hunter of both beasts and men.But one thing is certain:In this world, strength is everything. And Ethan Cross will carve his own path to the top—no matter the cost.

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“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

……………………………………………………………

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