Divine Beast Creator - Chapter 132 Preparations Before Departure_1

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

Su Mu took the player panel.

Came to the game world 10,000 years in advance.

The most common talent for players has been drawn:

…immortality.

However…

Although longevity, level experience is locked, what should I do if I can’t upgrade and become stronger?

Only practice, practice, practice!

There is no time in the cave, and a thousand years have passed.

On his way out, he found…

The girl I rescued casually back then actually created a tribe for me? !

Become a tribal totem yourself? !

…

Five thousand years later, the first batch of beta players arrived.

They looked at the totem statue standing in the first tribe, and looked at each other…

“This is the system introduction, a very easy to kill level 1 boss?!”

- Description from novelbuddy

Li Daoxuan received a strange scenic box.Inside the box, there was an ancient village, and a group of plastic figures, holding swords and knives, hacking and slashing through the village.He bent his finger and flicked it towards a most conspicuous figure…Late in the Ming Dynasty, in Shaanxi, there was a great drought in the land.A gang of mountain bandits was looting, burning, killing, and plundering in the village.A poor maiden was about to be killed under a mountain bandit’s blade.Suddenly, a giant hand stretched out from the clouds, bent a finger, flicked it, and the mountain bandit was flung several dozen yards away.

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.”