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After all, this was a precious existence that could evolve a top-level divine technique into a nomological divine technique.

Even in the Milky Way Empire, Divine Power Stones were extremely rare.

The gray-skinned young man behind Caput looked at Lin Bai.

Curiosity drove him to size up this unusual young man.

Even though Gao Fei’s talent was 4-star Domain Lord level, when he was at the low-level Martial King Realm, his battle power had already reached 5-9 m ...

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Gripes have their origins and debts have their creditors. We haven’t crossed each other in days past or present, nor formed any grudges. I am but duty-bound to carry this out, so apologies in advance!

In his past life, Yang Chen was a gentle person who was oppressed for his whole life.

Now that he’s reborn, he chose to become an executioner and severs ties and grudges with his executioner’s blade, killing all that climb onto the Immortal Executioner’s Platform!

Heads will roll! Humans’ in the human realm, demons’ in the demon realm, devils’ in the devil realm and immortals’ in the immortal realm!

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A Certain President: Did you lay an egg? Have you lost your egg?

Ji XiaoYu: No, we lost our egg!

According to the legend of Jianghu, rooster eggs can have a great effect as a elixir. If eaten by ordinary humans, they can prolong their life, while if eaten by spiritual beasts, they can greatly increase their power.

One year after the pheasant spirit, Ji XiaoYu, entered the land of humans, he suddenly laid an egg, but he couldn’t remember who the other father of the egg was.

While working hard to earn money to save up for powdered milk and having to also protect the small egg from all sorts of bad characters, this pheasant’s life is really difficult.

Unfortunately, there is also a careless belly black husband entangled with him all day long, irritating this little master to depend on him, is he not afraid!

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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.”