Zombie Apocalypse - Chapter 1887 Swore Never to Enter the City

[Ding!] [Your Clones have killed Young Master Dipsh*t! The reward is 500 Quintillion Clone Essence!]You may be wondering why you clicked on this book, and to tell you the truth, I don't know why either...But what I can tell the OP craving part of you is that this book will further define the definition of OP!You want OP MC? You got it!You want the MC to be Merciless and Evil? You got it!You want more than a hundred+ major realms and no nerfs?? Guess what, you f*cking have it!You want clone banaza!? You will find it in the confines of this book!Murder Hobo [Check]Fast-paced story [Check]Walking Loot Bags ready for the Reaping [Check]Clones [Check]No slowing down! No breaks from the Eternal Grind!No stopping the Infinite amount of Evolution of a Clone who absolutely loathes the deck of cards that he was dealt!Lucifer, a clone born from pure hatred for his main body!A clone was given a system that gives him clones!?Will he be able to make his way through the Path of Infinity and beat the sh*t out of the one who enslaved him!?!?Why don't you read and find out!!If you want peak, you have found it! So get the hell away from the synopsis and read this book!!!

After acquiring financial power, Shen Yuan had become the target of their spoken and written censure... Alternative titles of this book are “After Financial Freedom, They Offered Their Loyalty” and “Life Winner, I Have Multiple NPCs” There are some things you know. You will never regret opening this book...

When we met for the first time in our first year of high school, he saw my contempt, but silently continued to clean;

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.