MTL - Ten Thousand Paths to Becoming a God - Chapter 16 Four levels of assessment

Liu Fang, a manager, died suddenly at work due to being too diligent.
She thought that she would turn into a wisp of dust and dissipate after her death, but she never imagined that – the new century, the new underworld, even if she became a soul, she would still be a worker!

Liu Fang has become a newcomer to the underworld Quick transmigration Department. In order to wait for a good reincarnation, she strived to accumulate merit and traveled into one world after another to repair the way of heaven.

- Description from Novelupdates

Perhaps it is the choice of fate. As a senior otaku, Qian Lingfeng got the “steel shell system”. However, when he swept the world with the system, became a local rich man, made all kinds of beautiful women, opened a harem, and realized the ultimate fantasy of thousands of otaku, he found that things seemed far from simple!
When the end comes, biochemical zombies suddenly come down, fierce beasts are in power, bloodthirsty zerg roam to kill the world, and human lives are comparable to dirt. Where will weak human beings go in this world? Is humanity going to be extinct? Or … can an otaku save the fate of the human race?

- 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.”