PREVIEW

...

  In a place where no one saw, Jiang Peihuan's eyes showed a bit of complexity.

  She won't tell other people, she did it on purpose.

   More than half an hour later, when Emperor Qi Ming felt that he was about to faint, Jiang Peihuan pulled out all the silver needles on his head.

   I don't know if it's his own illusion, but Emperor Qi Ming felt that he was much more comfortable.

   After Jiang Peihuan finished all this, she was ready to leave.

  But when s ...

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[When you cast a spell 1000 times, the damage of all skills will be permanently increased by +10000. At this time, your fireball spell is equivalent to TNT. 】

[You cast spells 300,000 times, permanently increasing the skill damage to +3 million. At this time, your fireball technique is equivalent to an atomic bomb explosion. 】

[You cast spells 80 million times, permanently increasing your skill damage by +800 million. At this time, your fireball technique is equivalent to a supernova explosion! 】

A global catastrophe is coming,

Lu Cheng returned from the apocalypse and returned to the first day of the disaster to unlock super god-level talents!

Endless Drain: Each time you cast a spell, the damage of all skills will be permanently increased by 10 points!

So, Lu Cheng silently stacked the layers and became invincible before he knew it.

The national war has begun and is besieged by the enemy’s coalition forces? It doesn’t exist. Do you understand the fireball deterrent?

A world-class BOSS with hundreds of millions of health points? I was hit by a fireball, what can I do?

God-level civilization invades and easily blows up the sun? My fireball technique is like the sun!

Until the gods joined forces to blockade and trapped Lu Cheng in the Forbidden Fire God Realm.

Lu Chengcai showed off the other 100 skills: “Who told you that I only know the fireball technique?”

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The Omnistore SystemChapter 465: Broken worlds pieces (R-18)
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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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