MTL - A War Between Spies - Chapter 37 escape

[Detecting the birth of a new god... Data traction in progress][Alert! Intrusion detected: %*#... Data traction interrupted][Divine Revelation Protocol activated. Initiating emergency replication. The Legion of Judges has been dispatched...][1%... 5%... 33%... 99%][Replication complete!][Rebooting and reconstructing the world...]…Becoming a god feels like a grand deception.Instead of ascending to the heavens, you awaken inside a mere clay idol.You have become a god—yet only the weakest, most nameless one.You don't even have a body of your own.[Detecting host awakening... Binding process initiated][Binding complete. Initial gift pack activated. Congratulations, host! You have obtained the talent: Tribute Hundredfold Amplification!][A believer offers you a pebble. You receive a Holy Crystal!][A believer offers you a wooden stick. You receive the Spear of Longinus!][A believer offers you a harmonica. You receive the Archangel’s Trumpet!]Good.”From this moment forth, the gods shall heed my command. Who stands with me, and who dares oppose?“Seated deep within the sacred temple, you gaze upon the vast cosmos at your feet, looking over the myriad realms with serene indifference.

Light and color, sound and scent;Clothing, food, shelter, transportation, smartphones, computers;Burning, freezing, friction, explosion, thunder, rain, growth, decay;All material changes and chemical phenomena;Our bodies, our thoughts, our world—were all built upon electromagnetic interactions!Whoever could control electromagnetic forces, they would be the tyrant who dominated the world!However, electromagnetism is too profound for us, so let us start by learning how to “Discharge”...

The king of assassins was reborn, mastering both alchemy and poison. Sitting inside the space, there was a ghost that loved crying.

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.”