A peaceful, tranquil world was completely shattered by a sudden, spectacular meteor shower.
Zombies, mutated creatures, and viruses of unknown origin swept across the globe.
Twenty-two Tarot cults emerged in secret, and the land of Huaxia, steeped in dragon veins, exhaled the breath of a dragon.
Was this a carefully planned farce, or an end-of-the-world poem with no chance of redemption?
"Hey, listen." Tang Nangu's eyes were filled with determination.
Black, scale-like keratin covered every inch of his body like armor.
Countless red threads burst from his left hand, rapidly converging into the rough shape of a blade.
His right hand was likewise encased in hard scales, gripping a long sword with a pitch-black scabbard at his waist.
Sacred golden light surged from his chest, gilding his black body in a radiant glow. At that moment, he was like a dark knight shrouded in holy light, a contradiction that somehow felt right.
An ancient aura burst forth from him, making even the plants around him tremble.
"In this apocalypse," the blade slid from its scabbard, tracing a perfect arc through the air.
"Only the strong can become emperor!"
