My system allows me to copy talents - Chapter 2: 014 World cup

Chen Miao transmigrated to a supernatural world, where everyone had their own profession, such as “Student”, “Fighter”, “Thief”, and so on.After much contemplation, he activated the “Gunslinger” profession.From then on!While the foreign races brandished their claws to invade, and others tirelessly trained their physical fitness and learned skills.Chen Miao silently ventured into secret realms to collect all sorts of materials, crafting Occupation Exclusive weapons like the “Thompson Submachine Gun,” “Falling Blossom Sniper Rifle,” “Inferno Gatling,” “Matrix Sky-Eye Cannon,” and so on....One day, people suddenly noticed that a very unfamiliar Supernatural Occupation had appeared on the city's Combat Power rankings.And in the crowd.Chen Miao, bare-chested under a black suit jacket with sunglasses on and a cigar in his mouth, held two Inferno Gatlings in his hands, looking up slightly at a group of scoundrels in front of him with the corners of his mouth turned up.“Don't wait for me to stuff the gun barrel in your mouth before you admit you were wrong.”

Six years ago, the legitimate daughter of the Chu Family was schemed against by her half-sister and was forced to marry the Princely Heir, who was blind and not long for this world.Fortunately, her medical skills were excellent, and she detoxified the Princely Heir.Who would have thought after he came back to life, the emperor would actually want to bestow a concubine upon him—and this jerk didn't even refuse.Furious, she left a divorce letter and then set the Prince Residence on fire, fleeing in haste.Six years later, the same Princely Heir remained a lonely man, with all his old servants worrying their hearts out.One day, upon encountering a Little Baozi on the street who looked strikingly like the Princely Heir, they instantly burst into tears.“The Prince Residence has a successor! Princely Heir, please come back with us to the Prince Residence quickly.”Who knew, Little Baozi disdainfully said, “Not interested.”“Princely Heir, the Prince Residence is immensely wealthy...”“My mother is the wealthiest person!”“Princely Heir, the Prince Residence is extremely safe...”“My mother is the Martial Arts Alliance Hierarch!”“Princely Heir, the Prince Residence has powerful armies...”“My mother is the heir to the Nanduan Kingdom!”Suddenly, a faint voice came from behind: “Then, does your mother need an Imperial Consort? I think myself quite suitable.”

He was not a human since no human is aware of himself even before his birth.

He has no blood and no heart, but emotions?

He does have feelings, but can he express them?

Why was he called a Devil’s Spawn at his birth?

Why did they cut away his arms and a leg?

Why did no one ever visit him for years?

And why does this emptiness... feels so... just so familiar?

Why does the Void feel so... full?

Who is he? Or rather... What is he?

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.”