After The Abyss Dragon Woke Up - Chapter 80.1

Objects from beyond the Earth have fallen; eyes of crimson see through the cosmos.All the stars in the sky are enemies of humanity.They call me a false god, but only I fly above.The world is sick, gravely so.I will heal it.

The following were the talents of other cultivators: Divine Spiritual Root, Unique Body, Double Eyes, Divine Bones.

This was the talent of Chen Jingzhai: Bug Abuse.

Chen Jingzhai did not have any unique talent until he found out he could abuse bugs.

When he encountered a new martial art, he could instantly see the pros and cons and the weakness of the art.

When he fought, he could notice his opponent’s weakness and use that to his advantage.

When he brewed pills, he could abuse a special bug that allowed him to mass-produce high-quality pills.

Not only he could discover bugs while cultivating, but also in some special circumstances.

With the help of his new power, he began on a one-of-a-kind cultivation journey where he would become a legend.

Traveling to Los Angeles in the 1990s, Roland Allen, who had been beaten by society, thought that he would live an ordinary life in this life, but just when he was about to change careers, reincarnation began——

The number of roles is all determined by default, so they are all related households everywhere?

Sorry, as long as the hoe is swung well, there is no corner that cannot be dug.

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.”