Picking Up Beautiful Girls In The Post-Apocalyptic World! - Chapter 343

First-Generation God King Tang San, with a trace of divine consciousness, roamed the universe, searching for the world where his wife had reincarnated. Guided by that divine consciousness, he arrived at a place called Demon Monster Land, only to find that it was a world where humans were as lowly as livestock…

Behind the calm smile lies a heart riddled with scars.Beneath the weight of fate burns an unyielding gaze.A body trapped in the abyss of despair—if it reaches out, can it grasp the light called hope?A soul locked upon the rack of destiny—if it prays sincerely, can it embrace the future called redemption?

Shenwu mainland, Yangwu worships God. A generation of Tianjiao, Wu Sheng was born again. Too really water, refining the body. Boxing the world, feet and arrogance. The celestial emperor, the law is empty. “Dare to despise the brothers, all killed!” “The woman who dares to move the brother, has been sleeping!” “Brother is just a myth, no one!” – from the quotations of the Emperor Lingfeng. The Supreme Demon is a very popular fantasy fantasy type written by the author, and tells the vivid story of the Supreme Devil.

- Description from zhuishubox (translated)

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.”