Supernatural Movie Actor App - Chapter 58.1: Horror Skewers (13)

After being awakened from their slumber, billions of people found themselves dispersed in various sealed crypts. Surrounded by earth, they each had only a shovel.

Mu Yangling was reborn in the family of Orion. He thought he could live a simple and happy life. Who would have thought that a military disaster had nearly destroyed their family. His father was classified as a military household, and their family accompanied them to farm the fields.

Unfortunately, they could not even tell the seedlings of grains. Qing, looking at his mother and younger brother who were about to cry without tears, Mu Yangling raised his chest and said, “It’s okay, I have the strength” and some agricultural theoretical knowledge from a thousand years later.

- Description from novelbuddy

Kiro is a slave branded with a deadly collar, forced to work in brutal mines under the ruthless Kargal Empire. Each year, slaves are hunted for sport in the deadly Hunting Games—a fight to the death on a savage alien moon. This year, Kiro is chosen to play. Sent into a wilderness filled with monsters and traps, survival seems impossible. But something ancient watches from the shadows—and it has plans for him.

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.”