PREVIEW

... e heavens, its entire body cast in bronze-purple metal, densely embedded with countless small windows.

The sky overhead was bleak and heavy, as though rain would fall at any moment, creating an oppressive atmosphere. From afar, a narrow staircase spiraled tightly around the outside of the tower, winding upward from the base toward the summit.

At this moment, a group of cultivators was rushing down from the top of the tower, while a massive black shadow trailed them from the sky a ...

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MTL - Attack Stream of LifeChapter 204 end
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“Please sign a contract with me…” The cowardly and cute craftsman system thought that he had finally found the host in his mind: I don’t ask you to be ninety, sixty thousand years old, and an extra waste.
“But.” Qing Chuan, the seemingly gentle and amiable-looking new host, choked his fate while smiling, “I want to see the scenery at a high place, what’s the difference.”
A lonely, persistent, free and uninhibited soul, experiencing the ups and downs of life in different worlds, step by step out of the established destiny.
Life should be a carnival until death. Dreams are not dead, people are not dead.
And A and sassy bosses – daily soy sauce loyal dogs attack.
double C.
The presence of the attacking gentleman is slightly lower.

The first world: It looks like an ordinary ancient times, but it hides the setting of the martial arts world. I’m sorry, I just want to be an official. (Finish)
The Second World: Through the 1960s, the butcher is really busy and doesn’t look for a partner, thank you. (Finish)
The third world: overhead modern, I cut clothes and wear needles orchid fingers, but I am a straight man, probably. (Finish)
The fourth world: travel through the 1970s, taste the country food, enjoy the tranquility of the years, and the world is worth it. (Finish)
Fifth World: I have a small idea, others can carry a botanical garden, why can’t I carry a monster shelter? (Finish)
The sixth world: parallel modern, entertaining human beings during the day, entertaining ghosts at night, I have wine, do you have a story? (Finish)
The Seventh World: Future Interstellar, a strange family with abnormal ethics, and the little cabbage whose father does not love and does not love turn against the wind. (Finish)
The Eighth World: Parallel Space, quests, help players who have been swept away by high-risk games survive at least one existential crisis. (Finish)
The ninth world: Western fantasy world, the great elf lord, please make the cursed land a paradise of life again. (Finish)
The tenth world: modern entertainment, the value of a star is not only beautiful appearance and excellent talent, but also conveys correct values ​​to the society, please work hard and be fresh. (Finish)
The last world: The malice from the high-latitude civilization shrouded the world. In the deepest part of the devil’s lair, there is a treasure that their taskers want to snatch – the world tree. Let’s go, warriors! (Finish)
Extra World: Farming in the countryside and raising a cat. The most rare thing in life is that your family and friends are safe and healthy, and you are always happy. (while in progress)

Content tags: Farming text Food Fast wear Shuangwen
Search keywords: protagonist: Qingchuan ┃ supporting role: Wei Ge ┃ others: system, fast wear, food, age, life flow, farming culture, entertainment circle
One sentence introduction: Addicted to upgrade unintentional love

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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.”