MTL - Son God Marvel - ~ Promotion, against the culture of Xunzi

I am currently re-writing the first chapters of this story. They are quite rough and bounce around a lot and I can do better. At some point, I will replace these with the better chapters.Sometime in 2024 Aethon Books will publish the first volume of this story on Amazon, KU, and audible. This will mean the story will be stubbed. I will notify people far in advance of that.In the dystopian world of the future, life is rough when you live at the bottom. Jobs are non-existent. Far too many people live in poverty, crammed into huge buildings called Habitats. With no jobs in the real world, many people can only find work online in VR worlds as servants to the very rich. And it's getting worse. The old internet is unusable and hacked to pieces. The new system needs AI to run things, but all but one of them were destroyed. The last sentient AI is ordered to create a new game world so the rich can have a playground, and the corporations that rule the world can have a new global market place. Everyone wants a piece of the new game. The guilds are competing to be the first to find the dungeons and kill the biggest monster. The corporations are claiming land and putting in their online market places. Ozzy and his friends just want a paycheck.Four friends sign five year contracts as virtual serfs in a small village, and can't go adventuring at all to gain money. They don't have many choices. They can work as a blacksmith, barmaid and shepherd for all those years....or they can cheat and find ways to take advantage of the system and carve out a section of the game world for themselves, and earn a fortune in the real world.When they give you a mop and not a sword, you have to find the loopholes and change the rules.

The sky was painted gray forever. The light of the sun was restrained. The darkness of the night was deeper than ever. At such a time, he belonged to a class people didn’t even recognize as ’human’. He was at the bottom of the social stratum, a slave. And when his only family was taken away from him... he no longer had a purpose in life. Yet, he clung to life because of his promise. And he set an impossible goal for himself, just so he’d have an excuse to live. When he finally reached a place he never expected to be, in pursuit of a purpose he expected to fail and die miserably trying to fulfill... he awoke to a night that would change his entire life. He was an insignificant fly, a mere speck in the destruction of the Empire. But he... survived. And, despite being a slave, he gained the blessing of a king. Or rather, the curse...

[You have been chosen as a Lord of the Intergalactic Lord Project.] [Your reward: A floating island to call your own.] [Your mission: Build your kingdom, summon legendary allies, and dominate the worlds!] [Your advantage: An SSS-grade Ultimate Gacha System.] Atlas Blackthorn, the newly chosen Lord of a floating island, wields the power to summon legendary warriors, powerful artifacts, and, of course, waifus. With boundless ambition and the Ultimate Gacha System at his side, Atlas sets out to become the strongest Lord in all worlds. How far will his ambition take 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.”