Young Master in the Apocalypse - Chapter 132 Half Blood

Li Ya crossed the United States to become a high school student in Kansas, and accidentally acquired the friendship system.

The so-called friendship system is to improve the friendship value with friends, so as to obtain skills cards with corresponding capabilities.

“I got the star descent from Superman, the speed from the Flash …”

“From Batman … Um, why is the superpower obtained from the master rich? Why is it obtained from Thor? Hammer? Hammer?”

“I’m not targeting anyone, everyone here is … all my brothers!”

PS (PS: The DC world is in the front of this book, and Marvel, the parallel universe is in the back.)

- Description from uukanshu

An 18-year-old poor college student tried to apply for a job as a tutor but his life almost ended as demons' meal. In his last breath, a mysterious woman gave him a strange power. When he opened his eyes he had turned into a demon with a system that would turn him into… A pervert.

Now he must lived with his dual identity as a model student named Ethan and an incubus named Damian.

Yila, who had served the empire for half her life, was decisively sold. He was almost beaten to death when he wanted to go to other countries, and was rescued by the Dragon Lady Demon King.

After crossing over, Ira, who had killed monsters for half her life, was a little guilty, but…

【Those who fight against the evil dragon should be careful not to become the husband of the dragon…】

[When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss… offers a kiss. 】

Ira Alcaraz: ? ? ?

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(Slow heat farming text…probably)

Book Friends Group (playing with the crescent moon madman): 【926993534】

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”