Stagnant Water of Apocalypse - Chapter 18: Let's see how it goes!

In the year of 2013, the tide of zombies outbreak exploded in everyone homeland, humanity launches a large-scale battle in the endless nights awaiting for the arrival of the dawn.

The end is approaching, is there going to be a way out for them?

Their faiths were shattered into pieces and buried in ashes in the raging fire.

But within the blazing fire, a newborn hope arise once again.

- Description from Novelupdates

“Only by enduring 2¹⁴ trials can one awaken the ancient power sleeping within the Key of the Star Prison, and become the most powerful being in the universe.”Timothy, the youngest Demon Lord in the history of his race, saw these words emerge after he touched the Key of the Star Prison, the most powerful artifact of the demon race, handed to him just before the old Demon Lord's death.According to the demon race's records, no Demon Lord had ever achieved this.However, over a span of a hundred thousand years, Timothy had easily passed 16,383 trials.Now, once again, he turned the Key of the Star Prison, and an unknown force mistakenly sent him to a brand new world, transforming him into an unknown and seemingly worthless demonic cultivator disciple.And the formidable opponent he was about to face in this world was the powerful Goddess Sylvia.When Goddess Sylvia received the challenge Timothy handed her, her cheeks flushed...“My dear Sylvia, I want you to know how deeply I love you. My heart belongs to you, now and forever.”

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.”