PREVIEW

... The facial features carved into the earth disappear and a troll much stronger than Jando appears.

He was the biggest of all the trolls gathered here.

"You’ve become much more powerful than when you were Yognathun."

"You… what are you…"

The last time Zando saw Jamaard was when he lost Magra at Yognathun Volcano.

To put it bluntly, Jamard at that time was under Magra.

Of course, it was clear that he had great skills compared to the years he had lived ...

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And at the beginning of the game, he awakened the mighty Qinglian Earth Heart Fire, and just as Mr. Ren came out of the coffin, he was burned to ashes by Ling Xiao’s palm.

“Senior brother Shi Jian came to kill him? Just in time, let him see how powerful the Nine Dragons Thunder Gang Fire I just awakened is!”

“The ghost king of Fengdu Ghost City is coming to arrest me? Just to show you the taste of hell fire!”

“Ding…Congratulations to the host for burning the sun, gaining experience points: 10 billion! Obtaining bloodline: Golden Crow Divine Body, turning into a new sun!”

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With the awakening of various kinds of different fires, and the improvement of his strength, Ling Xiao rose from a mere mortal against the sky, and finally burned the heavens and myriad worlds to create his own, the Great Dao of Heavenly Fire!

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“You never know how many avatars are working hard behind the person chatting with you in front of you!”

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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.”