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Apocalyptic Crisis: Red Dawn
Science Fiction末世危机之赤色黎明
The First Child Becomes A Maple
In 2230, a mysterious virus ravaged the world. In 2233, most of the world's territory was occupied by zombies, leaving only a few cities with surviving civilization. Almost all survivors have become virus carriers, living in fear that they may mutate at any time. In Songjiang City, a metropolis in China, survivors rely on a high-tech instrument to monitor mutation and use X-element CNMD potion to fight zombies. People are struggling to survive under the threat of zombies...
In 2230, a mysterious virus ravaged the world. In 2233, most of the world's territory was occupied by zombies, leaving only a few cities with surviving civilization. Almost all survivors have become virus carriers, living in fear that they may mutate at any time. In Songjiang City, a metropolis in China, survivors rely on a high-tech instrument to monitor mutation and use X-element CNMD potion to fight zombies. People are struggling to survive under the threat of zombies...
天问之沧海横流
The First Child Becomes A Maple
The world of monks is a world where the weak and the strong survive. There is no unnecessary nonsense, only endless disputes...
The world of monks is a world where the weak and the strong survive. There is no unnecessary nonsense, only endless disputes...
长淮望断琉璃梦
The First Child Becomes A Maple
Flesh builds the city, pierced by thousands of arrows, and the armor is stained with blood and reflects the moonlight. In the distance, beards are heard, and the howling of wolves shakes the borders. The wolf smoke is thousands of miles away, and the graves are scattered. The lonely souls in the troubled times have no one to visit. In the silent sky, the pen and ink are cold, and the pen and knife are paid with blood in the spring and autumn.
Flesh builds the city, pierced by thousands of arrows, and the armor is stained with blood and reflects the moonlight. In the distance, beards are heard, and the howling of wolves shakes the borders. The wolf smoke is thousands of miles away, and the graves are scattered. The lonely souls in the troubled times have no one to visit. In the silent sky, the pen and ink are cold, and the pen and knife are paid with blood in the spring and autumn.