Qi Cultivation Starting from the Repair Panel - Chapter 211 - 155: As the Word Commands

It’s the vacation of a lifetime, a trip to a remote island filled with geniuses and murder.

【The entire world bullies you, hates you, and isolates you, but your world has light because of him. I hate this world! But I love you!】

A veteran player of “Starry Abyss” and a Meteor Fall Master known as Ace Bro, Li Zi came to the game world with his system template, arriving at the era of the game's beta version.This was the worst of times.Cosmic forces and financial magnates colluded, causing The Gate to the cosmos to be shut, planets' resources exhausted, even sunlight monopolized.It was also the best of times.All the Extraordinary Systems had just started, and in this era, only he possessed the final version patch as a Meteor Fall Master.While people reveled in the smoke of plasma cannons, Li Zi had already torn apart warships with Gravity.As Special Ability users proudly indulged in their awakened abilities, Moonlight had already become a servant to Li Zi.When the Interstellar Fleet crossed the Galaxy, Li Zi had just ignited the forty-second Stellar, illuminating the entire cosmos.“People have been trapped on the ground for too long and have forgotten that this Starry Sky should belong to us all,” he said gently, holding a black hole in his hand while facing an indescribable native Evil God.

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.”