Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1665: Imagination is a War Crime…

“Confession Rejection System 1.0: Every time you reject a confession, you become stronger!”

As a weak, helpless and pitiful 3-year-old child, Amamiya Noriko,

In the crisis-ridden world of Conan, he became a kindergarten friend of Kudo Shinichi.

It seems that only by refusing to confess can you live more than a thousand episodes.

Conan: That guy Amamiya is playing with other people’s minds again.

- Description from novelbuddy

I killed the player.

He was one hell of a f*cker.

A young man from the earth accidentally came to the world of pirates, fighting and taking risks in the world of pirates.

There is no legendary system, no peerless magic, only a thundering fruit,

This year, the four emperors are still on the same boat, the future One Piece has not yet dominated the sea at this time, and there are only two most powerful generals in the navy with a lieutenant general who is at the peak. fart boy.

By now, I, Albert Nicholas, will make this name known throughout the world!

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”