MTL - Global Games: Start with 10 Billion Psionic Coins - Chapter 984 Accident

After binge-playing a game for seventy-two hours, the single-player streamer Yang Yu, who made his living selling game guides, quietly passed away in his bed.Unaware of his own death, he was invited by a deity to conquer an RPG game, and was persuaded into choosing the hardest civilian starter.Couldn't even defeat a single slime after leaving the novice village? Want to learn a taunt skill but have to actually verbally taunt? And the gacha only yields trash?Faced with numerous hardships, he actually... got excited.A true gamer never fears challenges; they only fear the game being too easy.As his sparse panel began filling out, Yang Yu felt an unprecedented satisfaction swell within him, and he became addicted to making waves, unable to stop himself.'Hey? There seems to be a lone hero up ahead. Watch as I turn him into a unit of combat power! Damn, I’ve been spotted. Hero, don't run away!'

【National Martial Arts】【Attributes】There are rumors that ancient Taoist priests could leap over mountain ravines in a single step,There are rumors that ancient generals could crush bronze and iron with one hand.There are rumors that ancient monks could cross the Yangtze River with a single reed,There are rumors that ancient travelers could let out a howl like thunder.Striking a person is like hanging a picture, the strike sounds sharp and crackling,Practicing qi gathers in the Dantian, crossing the river just knee-deep.With the help of the attributes panel, Wang Longhu explored and embarked on the path of martial arts through diligent practice.“Today, I am the number one in the world.”

If Alex ever got the chance to get transmigrated into a world, he would choose Pokemon World. Since it is relatively safe. It is easy to earn money. Not to mention, such an adventurous and intriguing world. But when his wish somehow came true, he regretted it.

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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.”