On Hiatus: God's Personal Reasons - Chapter 171: #Earth’s Strongest Uncle (2)

Shao Xuan joins a friend in his expedition to a recently discovered archaeological cave. After he picks up an ordinary looking stone he is teleported to a different world and wakes up in the body of a small orphan child. The world he is in now is still in its stone age with primitive tools made of stone and the ways of the people are savage. Savage isn’t the only thing special about the people though, because they have superhuman strength, jump higher than trees and punch stones. In short, they are able to cultivate their bodies. Despite all this, it is a real struggle to survive because of the scarcity of food. Together with Caesar, his pet wolf, he tries to survive in this cruel world.

Throughout this current life of mine, I will pay no attention to my past lives, nor will I seek future lives. I wish to live vigorously, to pay back debt of gratitude and fulfill duty to avenge, to defeat valiant heroes from all species, and to proudly laugh at all the Gods and Demons of the Six Path of Reincarnation!

Yu Dong , a cultivator from the zombie apocalypse transmigrated over to another world after she died fighting a mob of zombies

- the moment she opened her eyes , someone told her that her wife was giving birth

- Yu Dong was stunned , she hurriedly reached to touch her chest , to check whether or not she was still a woman

- the two perky mounds told her she was

- instantly she looked at her bottom , she wanted to check whether or not she was a ‘ real woman ,’ but before she could

- she was hauled to where her wife was giving birth

- and what she saw made her want to pass out again -

Because her wife was a man ! And she didn’t have just one wife but three !

Yu Dong looked at the man who was groaning on the bed and nearly blacked out- whatever at least she didn’t have to chop zombies for living , right ?

“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.