MTL - The Science Fiction World of Xueba - Chapter 273 Water drops

One generation’s God King, Tang San, roams the cosmos with a trace of divine consciousness, searching for the world where his wife was reborn. Guided by his divine consciousness, he arrives to a place known as the Daemon Continent. However, to his astonishment, he discovers that in this world, humans are nothing but s*aves and cattle.

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This world is sick; both Immortals and mortals suffer from a stubborn ailment known as Longevity.Under the influence of Immortality, various Cultivation Techniques evolve rapidly in grotesque and inexplicable directions.[Fetal Period: A baby is born with shriveled, powerless limbs.][Childhood: After 20 years, the Internal Organs completely decay.][Weak Crown Period: At 50 years, the flesh dries and withers.][Thirty Years Old Stage: After 100 years, the blood runs dry and gives birth to mutations.]I am an Immortal Seeker, and also one seeking survival.

The protagonist fell asleep while playing an online game. However, he awoke in a strange world with his game character’s appearance. In a state of shock, he noticed that he was equipped with nothing but his strongest weapon and armor. To make matters worse, our hero’s appearance was changed by the special avatar skin『Skeleton』when he entered this new world. The protagonist wanted to live without drawing attention, but he got acquainted with the dark elf Ariana and received her request.

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.”