A Beautiful Luna After Rejection - Chapter 116 - Werewolf Hunters

Abandoned at birth and raised in an orphanage, a young man endures twenty-five years confined to a body ravaged by a rare genetic disease that kept him in constant pain and left him bedridden in his final years. His life ends quietly, without fanfare, as the flatline echoes through his lonely room.But death isn’t the end.Awakening in a realm of pure nothingness, he’s offered the one thing life never gave him: a second chance, and with it, a system shaped from his deepest desires.Given the opportunity to be reborn with the potential to become the Greatest of All Time in any field, his decision is instant. He chooses Formula 1, the one passion that kept him going during his darkest hours.Armed with a custom-built system, a new life, and the relentless drive of someone who has truly suffered, he is reborn in 2003. This time, he won’t just watch from the sidelines.Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are purely fictional and have no association with real individuals, organizations, or historical events. Any resemblance to real-life figures is purely coincidental and used for narrative realism.

Upon awakening, Zhou Sui finds himself a low-level Qi Refiner in the Cultivation World. Fortunately, he obtains the Supreme Gu God Bowl, which allows him to cultivate various Gu Insects.

Cultivating the Spring Autumn Gu can prolong his life and bestow immortality.

Cultivating the Golden Cicada Gu grants the ability to revive the dead and regenerate flesh and bone.

Cultivating the Dragon Elephant Gu gives him the Power of Dragon Elephant and the Dragon Elephant’s Body, making him invulnerable.

Yet, the first Gu Insect he cultivates happens to be the Obsession Gu.

From then on, he discovers a broad path of cultivation.

As time changes and landscapes shift, the only constants are my eternal life and the everlasting Zhou family.

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“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.