The Art of Chaotic Divinity - Chapter 1449: Facing a Great Emperor

Once transmigrated, the Mob Queen became a small peasant girl and was given a small bun.

Her parents were biased, while her siblings disliked her. Her father, aunt, and brother bullied the weak and feared the strong. Was her eccentric grandfather trying to sell her for money? She also wanted to get involved …

What should he do? The Queen rolled up her sleeves. Don't be afraid, just do it.

However, he had accidentally provoked the man he had picked up from the mountain.

“I will raise you and you will belong to me,” the mountain man said.

Hehe, raise your ass!

He started a fertile field, raised livestock, and his days became more and more popular. He even collected the mighty and domineering Han warm bed in the mountains for his use.

However... How did you become a general in this mountain?!

A shut-in accidentally transmigrated while playing a dark R18 banned-cultivation gal game, and he brought this game panel called 《Evil God Cultivation》 with him…

The cultivation of an Evil God requires him to go to the various planes’ dungeons to complete dark missions and finish daily evil events.

“Evil Event triggered: Adopt the orphan Lin Yunyun.”

“Lin Yunyun? Orphan? Old Wang, find someone to hit Lin Yunyun’s old geezer of a father with a car! Quickly, I’m in a hurry!”

This is a story of an ambitious shut-in who, under the “persecution” of the portable game system, happily embarked on the path to become an Evil (human) God (scum).

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.”

It was in the year 2800 of the Midgard calendar. Back then, there was a Overlord who once reigned supreme and had reached the very brink of subduing the world.