Shrewd Wife Of Lin Brothers - Chapter 886: Counter attack —-2

Have you ever wondered what lies beyond what you perceive as your reality?What lies beyond the “truth” that everyone around you tells you is “just the way it is”?Have you never pondered on what your limit is in this life of yours? “Can I go further? Can I do more?”And yet you end up settling when you think you have reached that “limit.” But why? Why should you settle? There is always going to be something further, something 'beyond'.This is a story about a boy named Azmond who was reincarnated from planet Earth into the Cultivation World of Asterion... A world where the strong rule and the weak are forced to kneel. If Azmond wishes to gain power in this new mysterious world then he must be willing to sacrifice more than anybody else, he who wants to know just how far he can go, a boy with the sole goal of attaining power above all else.Little does Azmond know, that there is a price to pay for everything and that price will be painful, so very excruciating that every fiber of his being will wish for death... but Azmond will continue. He will persevere until he can't anymore... For that is his will.

Lumberling, a 42-year-old civil engineer, grew numb to the monotonous rhythm of modern life. Hoping to rekindle his sense of wonder, he set out on a solitary nature trip, only to stumble upon an ancient, forgotten pyramid. A strange red light burst forth, killing him instantly… and binding itself to his soul.Cast adrift in the void, his soul found no rest, until he awoke in the body of a young foot soldier, bleeding and broken on a war-torn battlefield in a world not his own.Determined not to die again, Lumberling fights to survive in this brutal new realm where knights clash with monsters, kingdoms rise and fall, and mysterious powers shape the fate of nations.Armed with a strange ability to devour the essence of those he slays, he begins to carve out a new path, one forged by blood, strength, and sheer will.But power alone may not be enough. In a world where danger lurks in every shadow, and ancient forces stir in the dark, can a lost soul rise above fate… or will he be consumed by the very essence he seeks to control?

Monster! Internet writer Mo Fan is traveling through time!

Not dressed as a protagonist, not dressed as a villain, not dressed as an unrivaled powerhouse.

He actually became the ancestor of a miscellaneous fish villain in his book who only lived less than ten chapters, and became the grandfather in his ring.

Looking at his illusory soul body, he thought about the only resurrection material he had set.

Sorry, Lin Yang, I want to be resurrected.

Let my little great-great-grandson take your chance.

Grandpa in your ring, don’t live, let me live!

(Book friend group 839934306, welcome.)

- Description from novelbuddy

“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.