The Aloof Prince Pampers His Wild First Rate Consort - Chapter 48

Zhou Donghuang, a man from the Earth, is able to destroy any planet in the universe without lifting a finger. His supreme will can sweep across the vast cosmos in the blink of an eye. And his immortal spirit can depart from his body and wander around the universe!

“You will hear many of his Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence, that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded. Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted one,” Dumbledore told Harry Potter with absolute certainty.But what if Voldemort did have a friend? Not just a friend but the friend? A millennia-old wizard, who learned the secret of Hogwarts from the great Four founders, and had his own goals to take over the world?To stop that ancient wizard, an ancient power is called upon . . . in the form of a girl. A Muggle-born at that.Christina Norton has powers beyond anyone's imagination but she is too caught up in the Chosen One Harry Potter's life and catastrophes. But as she starts to uncover the plans of Voldemort, she realizes someone else is working with him. Someone who wants her dead. Why? She doesn't know. She just knows she has to save her loved ones and Hogwarts from Malgino and for that she is ready to go to the end of the world.And fight whoever comes in her way.

Jin Runcandel is the youngest son of the greatest Swordmaster. After he gets himself kicked out of their clan, he meets a tragic fate…but before he dies, a God gives him a second chance. Now he must use his new power for good.

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.”