The CEO's loser wife: Rebirth of the villainous queen of alchemy - Chapter 220: Papa and mama love you little darling Part1

[Regression: 31 times][Possession: 17 times][Reincarnation: 7 times]Kang Hanbit endured 55 cycles of regression and reincarnation, dragged to the brink by the Goddess.Just before his 56th journey, he gets sent back to reality, only to find his life intertwined with a game called the “Record Project.”But wait—this game’s world is identical to the other world?The 56th journey, which had yet to begin, now continues in the form of a game.

BLURB> He was reborn by mistake. Raised with purpose. Loved by a god. Worshipped by monsters. And the galaxy doesn’t stand a fucking chance.Irvine’s soul took one wrong turn through the wheel of karma and woke up in a body grown by an intergalactic hivemind goddess with boundary issues and galaxy-sized ambition. Now he’s the golden child of a psychic swarm that feeds on control and burns whole worlds for affection.With Crystal at the helm, warriors like Kimchi, relic-weapons like Kiya, and a council of psionic horrors eager to call him king, Irvine must choose what kind of god he wants to be.Because when a hivemind learns to love......it doesn’t know when to stop.The universe will kneel—or get devoured trying.SYNOPSISIrvine didn’t ask to be reincarnated, but the cosmos had other plans. And it didn’t hand him a cheat code or a clean slate—just one random boon, selected by an uncaring divine roulette wheel.Good karma? Bad karma? Balanced as all fuck.Now he's reborn in the body of a psionically tuned alien hybrid, raised from psychic infancy by Crystal, the hivemind queen of a race so advanced they’ve abandoned individuality for shared omniscience. All except her baby boy.Irvine is the singularity inside the swarm, the first soul allowed to think, dream, and desire independently. Trained by warriors like Kimchi, advised by bio-symbiotes like Kiya, loved ferociously by hive sisters like Diane, and shadowed by powers ancient and unnamed, Irvine is both weapon and wielder, saint and sacrifice.But empires don’t run on hugs and handjobs. As Crystal expands her dominion—across star systems and sentient nebulae—Irvine must lead the charge through blood, fire, and psionic flame.His soul is still human. His body? Engineered for extinction. His heart? Not entirely his anymore.

Crossing to a garbage star in the interstellar age, Ji Yu is so poor that she is about to plow the soil and eat it, but… the soil is poisonous and can’t be eaten… There is no way, she can only lower her body to pick up the garbage, sell it and sell it. of……

For example, no one wants such beautiful grass seeds. Pick up a bead and sell it online.

But as soon as I posted it on the Internet, someone made a negative comment: “All the grass seeds and fruits are sold. Are you crazy to think about money?”

A few days later, the man slammed the wall in regret: “Kneel and beg you to sell me one grass seed and fruit, only one! One is fine.”

Ji You said coldly: “Not for sale!”

For another example, these shattered stones on the street are so shiny that nobody wants them. Pick them up, polish them into bracelets, and sell them on the Internet.

The crowd made nasty words: “Broken rocks are all sold, haven’t you seen the money?”

A few days later, everyone wept bitterly and said, “I have no eyes, I am clumsy, such a beautiful and beautiful stone, please beg me for one.”

Ji You said, “It’s gone.”

- Description from novelbuddy

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”