MTL - Male God is Chasing My Brother - Chapter 89 Thanks for subscribing

Earth was supposed to be a safe haven.And for a time—it was.Until one night, golden stars lit up the sky like cosmic flames. The heavens swirled, the winds howled, and the world braced for its end. But just as quickly as it came... the phenomenon vanished.Weeks later, everything changed.Humans began to awaken powers once thought to exist only in fantasy. Skills—mystical, world-shaking abilities. Some used them for good. Others unleashed devastation.What could a gun do against a man who could turn into a living bomb?Portals tore through the sky, connecting Earth to monstrous realms. Beasts, demons, and nightmares poured into the world. Amid the chaos, powerful humans rose to fight back—and won. The survivors called them one thing: Heroes.Among them, one boy was left behind.Han Trystan—orphaned during the Sendok Calamity—carries the burden of rebuilding his parents' legacy, protecting his three younger siblings, and finding a cure for his dying aunt. But all of that hinges on one thing: awakening a powerful Skill.And when his time finally comes…> Name: Han TrystanSkill: Book FormationRank: EThe lowest rank. A joke. Practically powerless. Hope? Shattered.Until Han discovers the truth.His skill isn’t “Book Formation.” It’s something far greater.Creation. Not just of weapons or armors. But artifacts, pills, barriers—even other Skills.The world labeled him weak. But he was never meant to follow their system—he was meant to break it.Years later…> “Did I see that right...?”“Yeah. He just wiped out hundreds S-Rank monsters—alone.”“So the title ‘White-Black-Haired Monster’... it wasn’t exaggerated after all.”In a field of fallen beasts, one man stands untouched. Eyes calm. Power immeasurable.> “Weaklings.” Han mutters.Follow Han Trystan’s journey from the lowest-ranked misfit to one of the most powerful beings in the multiverse—and witness the rise of a legend the system tried to erase.

[R18 - Contains SMUT & UST]

“Fuck the rich!” Xue Ning declared.

“I'm rich - fuck me - not anyone else!”

As the second son of a billionaire, Sun Jingwei is undoubtedly rich, handsome and a playboy - but now he's been ensnared by his new bodyguard who hates rich people with a passion!

How can he insert himself into her 'fuck the rich' motto?

What happens when they end up married in the eyes of the public?

Here is the slowburn love story between a billionaire’s handsome playboy son and his new straight-laced, sarcastic wannabe-bodyguard wife that looks like a cute kitten!

EXCERPT:

“Oh good, you received my delivery!” was his excited reply.

“Did you accidentally mix my outfits with the ones meant for your girlfriend?” Xue Ning asks flatly.

“Of course not! I don’t have a girlfriend! All these are handpicked for you!” Jingwei exclaims.

“You handpicked underwear for me?!” She squawks, face red. “We’re not that close!”

“How can you say that? You’re practically my saviour! I owe you a life debt!” Jingwei argues. “Sexy underwear is the least you deserve!”

“You’re giving your saviour underwear?” She asks incredulously in return. “Do you not find anything weird with this?”

When a national athlete of China laughs at being able to win a gold medal in video gaming, what a pro-gamer like yourself ought to do is take your size-42 shoe and measure it against his pretty face!

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.”