Hades' Cursed Luna - Chapter 462: Let’s Take A Chance

To exist in a certain place, at a certain time—it's always either by chance, or by choice.But sometimes,There is a third force.One that doesn't ask.One that doesn't explain.It simply places you—wherever it wants.Arséne had always been dragged into places he never chose.Situations he never asked for.Realities he never belonged to.And when, at last, he decided to act on his own terms—To take the initiative,To move first,To choose…He simply died.

(A cruel, merciless, inhuman, Prime Minister gong x (previously) a cute, naive, foolish prince shou)

As an alluring beauty, the Ninth Prince Qi Changyi inherited his mother’s looks, but was unfortunately a bit s*upid. Not only did he live in fear, even within palace walls, but he also merely lived as a substitute in his beloved’s eyes. Then, while being used and tormented, his delicate, pure heart finally burned to ashes.

Pei Zheng was the Prime Minister of the Imperial Court, a man of great status; he gained it all through the most ruthless methods. He was known for his cruel nature, but gradually, he became close to the unfavored ninth prince.

“Your Highness, just now, at court, who were you looking at? Huh?” Pei Zheng squeezed the small man’s delicate little chin.

Qi Changyi’s eyes were misty with tears of pain, “I, I wasn’t.”

“Stop trying to seduce others.” Pei Zheng’s voice was frigid. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure that General Zhao, for whom you pine, dies on the battlefield!”

He thought he had a firm grip on this little fool, but he could’ve never imagined that one day, this little fool would leave his side carrying a broken heart.

“Brother Pei, I’m leaving now, you should be happy.”

With scarlet eyes and a heart burning with obsession, he searched everywhere, but found no trace of him.

“I won’t, without you, I’ll never be happy again. Your Highness, where should I go, how can I bring you home?”

1v1, happy ending! But the path leading up to it is laced with sweetness and cruelty.

- Description from Novelupdates

“Failed writer. Failed hunter. Failed at life.”Aiden Jus had heard it all before. At twenty-eight, he was a walking reminder of what happened when you failed your mana awakening and spent thirteen years chasing a dream that would never come true. No powers. No future. Just a cramped flat in the UK and a lifetime of rejection letters from publishers who never bothered to read past the first page.But the day Aiden decided to give up on writing—the day he was ready to finally accept a soul-crushing desk job at an editing firm—everything changed.*[You have been chosen by Nabu, God of Literacy and Scribes]**[Skill Acquired: Narrative Embodiment (Divine-Rank)]*The ancient Mesopotamian deity offered Aiden something unprecedented: the power to physically enter any story he writes and gain real abilities from the fictional worlds he creates.*[You have mastered Celestial Blade Art - Skill permanently acquired]**[You have learned Tier-9 Spell: Void Severance - Spell permanently acquired]*Every sword technique mastered, every spell learned, every power gained inside his stories becomes permanently his in the real world. But so does every death trap, overpowered villain, and narrative cruelty he carelessly wrote in moments of frustration.Suddenly, Aiden isn't just a failed writer anymore. While other awakened humans rely on mana cores and dungeon raids, Aiden's strength comes from the worlds born from his imagination—a power that operates outside the traditional hunter system entirely.As rival gods compete for powerful human contractors and ancient ruins promise unimaginable treasures, Aiden must survive the deadly fictional universes he created while building his reputation in a society that once dismissed him as worthless.**From the typewriter to the battlefield, Aiden Jus will prove that the pen truly is mightier than the sword—as long as you're willing to live through every word you write.**

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.