MTL - Chronicles of Primordial Wars - Chapter 87 Strategy as a stick (two in one)

[Sexual Content and lemons warning]This novel has smut but is not smut focused.It has Plot and story, developing relationships. Though it may feel a bit slow in the beginning it will pace up soon.No NTR.18+-----------------------------With her sitting on me, I could feel her thighs, so soft and I didn't want her off of me but this was not the time for that.“I wouldn't betray you like this Jennifer, you know this” I said, shifting my gaze from her thighs to her eyes.“You were with Renn all along.” She said as she drew a blade to my neck. “You can't tell me you don't have a hand in this”At that moment, there was nothing I could say to please the beast who had me in chokehold. I just laid there and prayed for a miracle.—-------------------------In a world where every player controls five versatile avatars, Contrario Williams is cursed with just one avatar.Mocked, outclassed, and labelled “One-slot player,” Contrario enters Irish Valley, a faction known for chewing up the weak. But when his last avatar, named Stray, really bonds with him, everything begins to change. What starts as a desperate struggle to survive quickly grows into a chaotic rise through ranked raids, underground brawls, and deadly bounty missions.With 290 days until a tournament that will shake the game world, Contrario is thrown into brutal training simulations, tangled love interests, and savage battles with elite bounty hunters and mercenaries like the infamous Kyra and Axel. Killer twins who fight for who can pay them the most, and who just might hold the key to Contrario's haunted past.But in a world built on stats, politics, and power, what happens when the most underestimated player becomes the most unpredictable? How would Contrario handle opening up to people who later betray him?And how far will Contrario go to prove that one slot is all he needs?

Liv Hamelsvoort, who bears the label of the ‘Fake Saintess’ and is the laughingstock of high society for her unrequited love for Duke Lartman. No one could understand her, but she likewise couldn’t understand them.“I’m in the middle of enduring the love of the gods.”There was a world that ordinary humans couldn’t dare to comprehend.“Who harmed my child?”“Does my child not exist in this world?”“I don’t need a world where the child I love doesn’t exist.”The moment the enormous things she had been bearing were revealed, Liv’s life finally began to change.“I will love you in any timeline, Your Grace.”Liv was content as long as she could continue loving. But if she wanted to protect that love, she had to change; the world was whispering that to her.

WARNING [MATURE CONTENT]

Ella clenched her chest and tried to scream but an invisible hand was placed over her mouth.

The nurse brought out a sharp and pointy knife. “Let’s carve out that dead baby, shall we?” She took off her veil only to reveal Chloe’s face.

“Chloe!” She said inaudibly as she thrashed and wrestled to save herself and her baby.

“No!”

“No!”

…

After five years of hard work, commitment, and devotion to the fashion company she worked for, Twenty-four years old Ariella, ‘Ella’, was more angry than devastated when she didn’t get promoted to creative director, a position she not only qualified for, but one she deserved.

While she is trying to figure out her next move, Ariella finds herself entangled in a contract marriage arrangement with Leon Treshvier– The very bossy, arrogant, and playboy billionaire CEO of a rival fashion company.

Will Ariella be able to tame her playboy husband? Will she be able to keep up with the demands of their contract and achieve her sole purpose of creating a niche for herself in the fashion world?

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.”