Cultivation through Skin Making - Chapter 201 - 138. The Strongest Battle in the Three Kingdoms, Ultimate Counterkill (8.5K Words - Two-in-One Chapter)_5

It’s the beginning of the Apocalypse, and zombies are running rampant over the Earth.

“Can you be useful to me?”

“I… I can be…”

The first time they met, she knelt trembling before him, begging for shelter. The slave caught his interest, and he brought her back to his palace.

She could’ve never imagined that in one night she’d go from a spoiled little slave princess of a defeated kingdom, to becoming a powerful prince’s pet.

He kept her by his side… spoiled her, cared for her, loved her, and gave her meticulous care and high status. Whatever she wished… she could do so under his name.

But, she angered him and chose to run away. He captured her within a day.

“Don’t forget, my little dearest, everything I have given you can be taken back…”

In a spur of anger, she hit him, her feeble hands striking against the flesh of his cheek. Gnashing her teeth in anger, she said, “Do you have the ability to take my child back?!”

- Description from Novelupdates

A cell that was born at the beginning of the life of a planet will see the rise and decline of countless civilizations, the speciation and extinction of organisms. Under the endless calamities of the world, nothing remains unchanging. Only by continuously changing oneself and evolving in the face of adversity could one achieve perfect victory.

The story starts from a little cell…

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”