The Police Called Me For The Filing, Revealing Me, A Master - Chapter 1023 - : Reverser in the Apocalypse (2)

Nameless Traveler, “If you could bring the martial arts, Inner Strength, Daoist skills, Divine Skills, and other abilities you've learned in the game into reality, would you play such a game?”Gamer, “Of course, I would play. Is there really such a great thing?”Nameless Traveler, “Then, if you were to die in the game, and you would also die in reality, would you still play?”Gamer, “Let me think about it—um, I think I would play, as long as I'm careful to avoid provoking higher-level monsters.”Nameless Traveler, “What if the game was so difficult that a Little Monster at the entrance of a village could easily chop you down, would you still play?”Gamer, “……”

When the cosmic tyrant Frieza detonated Planet Vegeta, home of the Saiyan race, a twist of fate sent a lone infant—placed in an escape pod by his mother—hurtling through the void toward an unknown destiny. The pod's trajectory led him to a desolate world: Titan, a planet ravaged by catastrophe and long stripped of life.Beneath the shadowed skies of this barren realm, the watchful eyes of Thanos, the self-appointed director of the universe's population balance, beheld an unexpected sight—a child, the sole survivor of Titan’s forgotten civilization... a child with a tail swaying behind him.“A survivor of Titan... From this day forth, you shall be my son.”

Wen Xuxu is a tenacious, talented, smart and brave woman who was fostered by the Yan family at the age of four when she lost both her parents.

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.”