Super Soldier in the City - Chapter 333 - 341: A Shotgun Wedding_2

Soaking in lava, sleeping in an Ancient Killing Formation;

Traversing alternative worlds in a heavy armored vehicle;

Riding a Gundam Sentinel and slaying immortals with Godzilla...

I got myself a stat system, and from then on, I only beefed up my defense!

I just can't help it, I'm afraid of pain! The Daluo Golden Immortals of other worlds are all really fierce, and all of them know super ultimate move with infinite power. They have little meetings every day to discuss how to break through my defense.

I really don't know why they're so obsessed...XD

n the era of global evolution, humans and monsters coexist, and evolution is the only theme!

Chu Zhou traveled to this world. At the age of 17, he awakened the attribute panel!

Breathing method, combat skills, talents, you can upgrade with points!

Basic breathing method, upgrade 10,000 layers, and become black hole breathing method!

D-level combat skills, upgrade 10,000 layers, and become SSS-level magic skills!

Ordinary talents, upgrade 10,000 layers, and become true god talents!

…

Several years later, Chu Zhou stood on the top of the cosmic pyramid, facing many cosmic overlords, cosmic true gods, and cosmic sages, and summed up his life: Everything I have today is due to my hard work…Deep blue, add points!

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.”

The summer I was 17. A painting I created was sold. For 1.4 billion won.