MTL - I Became the Favorite of Big Bosses - Chapter 541 doomed

It’s the beginning of the Apocalypse, and zombies are running rampant over the Earth.

Way, way, and very way before I was even born, my world was invaded. Actually, not just my world, my entire damn universe was overrun by another, led by a single race that called themselves the Eternals.And they were prepared. Very prepared. Every life we lost in the war against them was used by them. They didn’t just kill people, they captured their souls, forged them into Phantoms, and used the souls to twist beasts into Abominations. Our dead became their army.Three hundred years later, I was born. A guy with way too much energy. Sitting still? Impossible. Taking it slow? Not happening. I was always moving, always ready to burst into action. Then I awakened, and got a talent too.My Talent's Name Was Generator.Because of it I never ran out of energy. Ever. My muscles? Supercharged. My healing? Faster. My stamina? Please, I had no idea what being tired even felt like.So if the universe wanted to throw an endless war at me?Fine. I’d throw everything I had right back.I wasn’t born a hero. Never wanted to be one. But this war? It wasn’t just my universe’s fight anymore. It was mine. The Eternals made sure of that when they took my parents' souls.

A failed investor from 2017 got drunk and woke up in the 1980s. China is just opening up, and the economy is blooming. There is also the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the bursting of the Dot-com bubble and other financial crisis. He used his knowledge of the future and slowly build up his empire.

- 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.”