185 Book(s) Related to clockwork angels graphic novel

Missing for five years, I dragged my slightly crippled left leg back to the slums.

Only to see my once-gentle wife wearing a cheap, fraying apron, being mercilessly humiliated in front of a greasy sink.
My five-year-old son was cowering beside a pile of garbage, clutching a broken toy, trembling in fear.

A high-and-mighty tycoon slapped a three-million-dollar IOU across my face. A thug kicked a plate of rancid, rotting meat scraps to my feet, sneering, "Lick it clean, and I'll waive ten thousand in interest."

Desperate to protect me, my wife pushed me away, only to be brutally kicked into the muddy water by a bodyguard, revealing a back covered in a suffocating, horrific lattice of burn marks and whip scars.

Everyone thought I was just a crippled piece of trash—a useless man who couldn't even protect his own wife and child.
That was, until I reached into my coat and pulled out a black satellite phone that had gathered dust for five years.

"Disable Ghost Silence Protocol. Initiate full takeover."

That night, eight heavy attack helicopters tore through the clouds, blotting out the sky.
Hundreds of fully armed, elite special operatives descended from above. Dropping to one knee in the freezing mud, they roared in unison: "Welcome back, Young Master!"

The entire city’s municipal assets, the police force, the underworld—both the light and the dark—could be reduced to ashes with a single thought from me.

I took off my tattered jacket and draped it gently over my wife's trembling shoulders. Then, I crushed the tycoon's mechanical prosthetic limb with my bare hands. My voice was calm, yet it sent a chilling shockwave through everyone present:

"Three million? I just did the math on the scars you owe my wife..."
"Now, you owe me thirty billion."

In my past life, they drained my blood, kicked me off the rooftop, and said, "Waste doesn't deserve to live."

Reborn into the apocalypse, I opened my palm, and seven beams of primal energy pierced the sky. The woman who cried out "the best in the world" to me just ten minutes ago couldn't even produce a spark now. The brother who wore the boots I sewed and called me trash was being chased and bitten by mutants like a stray dog, his leg broken.

They came to me with memories of their past lives, demanding, "Why did you steal our special abilities?"

In front of thousands of people, I unleashed a net of lightning, scorching those who came to block my way. They knelt in the mud, their heads bleeding from kowtowing; Elena covered her mouth, which had been slapped clean, and David trembled on his single leg, leaning on a rusty steel pipe—yet they couldn't even climb over the iron thorns surrounding my tower.

Later, they rotted into a pile of mud in the arena and among the hordes of corpses, and I didn't even look back.

Until a horde of millions of zombies besieged the city, I went out alone with my sword and shattered the zombie king with a single strike.

The entire ruins knelt down.

They thought I had stolen the light.
No. I was just a fire that burned away what should have been garbage.

Intro: Six hours before the apocalypse, I was reborn. A gray panel now floated before my eyes, showing my physical stats. In the scant time left, I had to use limited supplies to complete the system's tasks, grind levels like mad, gather scattered resources, and build my own doomsday fortress. This time around, I would exact ultimate revenge on all those who had betrayed me.

A torrential downpour of strong acid flooded the city, and mutated sea monsters slaughtered buildings. When Chloe, along with burly men from the rugby team, wielding fire axes, frantically smashed down the door, attempting to burn me alive and steal my bottled water, I had already welded the security door firmly into the load-bearing wall.
Faced with the pried-open door, I didn't waste any words and directly used a 20,000-volt electric spear to pierce the strong man's thigh! Then, I coldly pushed the blood-soaked floor outside.
The pungent smell of blood instantly attracted the skeletal behemoths from the water, turning the corridor into a horrific slaughterhouse. I listened coldly to their desperate screams in front of the monitor.
In this desolate wasteland, you think you can survive by stepping on me? Then feed the monsters with your flesh and blood !

Intro: I spent three years as a logistics mage in the Darkmoon Pack, chasing the wolf clan's female war goddess for a full year. I repaired her armor, mixed her potions, and secretly tucked protective charms inside her gear. She never once looked me in the eye. At the bonfire banquet, after enduring humiliation, I took the initiative to sever ties and walked away. Without my help, she lost everything. When I was reborn and returned, facing the one and only chance to win me back, she finally chose to make the first move.

For the past ten years, I've been the worst-ranked cleaner in the Hero Association .
The S-class war god regarded me as an ant, wantonly trampling on my dignity on this floor.
Until that day, the SSS-level villain broke out of prison, massacred the headquarters, and the high and mighty gods knelt in pools of blood like dead dogs, howling in despair.
I silently picked up the mop and walked up to the arrogant villain: "You've dirtied my floor, please cooperate with the cleaning."
The next second, the concept vanished, reduced to ashes! The entire audience was shocked: "I told you to mop the floor, and you wiped the villain away?!"

Intro: When she found the wolf cub, she touched him and saw a vision—the grown version of him standing atop a mountain of corpses, ten thousand wolves prostrate at his feet. She named him Little King. Sixteen years. She taught him to fight, to control his transformation, to ride atop pain. The first full sentence he ever learned was "Whoever hurts you, I'll kill." On a blizzard night, he curled up at her door and kept watch through the whole night, just to say, "I was afraid you'd be cold." She almost said, "Don't leave me." But what came out in the end was something else.

At the red carpet event, Maddie, my partner of three years, in an attempt to curry favor with a popular male star, publicly humiliated me, trampling on my foot and yelling, "Ethan, you're just a backstage errand boy

. Don't interfere with Ryan's shots. Go back to carrying materials." The whole room burst into laughter; everyone thought I was a lowly sycophant forced to swallow my humiliation.

But I didn't get angry. I calmly took out my tablet, cut off all her studio's basic permissions with a single click, and immediately sent the irrefutable evidence of her breach of contract to the brand's legal department.

Three minutes later, she was completely stripped of her control and faced a multi-million dollar claim for breach of contract.

At first, she thought I was just acting out of spite, that a little charity would win me back. It wasn't until the day her assets were forcibly liquidated and she was completely blacklisted from the industry that she desperately realized: for the past three years, she had only been able to sit at the table because of my charity.

Later, shamelessly, she crawled through garbage cans, barefoot, to the airport, knelt before my bulletproof Maybach, and begged me to come back.

As for me, I simply walked onto the private jet surrounded by executives from top European conglomerates.

At the Waldorf Astoria in Manhattan, my ex-husband threw champagne all over me, and my wife publicly called me a "gold digger."

I held the tray, silent, like a clown being punished.

Three years ago, I lived in anonymity with her in a basement, cooking and doing laundry for her, all because of the pure stubbornness in her eyes.

In return, she embraced her father's killer and trampled me into the mud.

The divorce agreement was signed quickly, and she got into a Porsche with her enemy.

I laughed.
The next day, a Maybach pulled up in front of the law firm, escorted by eight bodyguards. The sole heir to the oldest conglomerate on the East Coast had returned.

While she was watching the cheap TV in the supermarket, seeing me marry a European princess, she was kneeling in front of a cold shelf, being verbally abused by a homeless man over a moldy potato.

The acrid smell of the bullet piercing my skull hadn't even dissipated when I came back to life.

I was reborn back to the third week of the apocalypse. At this time, the tyrant of the fifth checkpoint was stripping me of my right to pass and kicking me into a horde of thousands of zombies.

In my past life, I also died here. But until the moment of my death, these fools didn't know that—within the skulls of those terrifying zombies lay divine crystal cores capable of "freezing time"!

Having been given a second chance at life, I did not run away.

I calmly snapped the neck of the first monster and pried the glowing key out of the rotten flesh.

The instant I forcibly froze the torrential, highly corrosive acid rain in mid-air, I knew that this apocalyptic hunting game... had shifted in power dynamics.

In my past life, I was betrayed by my fiancée and my tycoon boss, and thrown alive into a mutated swarm to be torn apart.

When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn fifteen days before the multidimensional catastrophe! Facing my vain ex-boyfriend who was still threatening to break off our engagement and buy me luxury bags, I sneered and decisively blocked him, instantly awakening a "Beast-Level Infrastructure System."

Hoarding supplies in the apocalypse? Too narrow-minded! I directly infiltrated the polar regions with my geeky best friends, tampered with central permissions, and seized my tycoon boss's invincible fortress—a multi-billion dollar investment with a nuclear reactor!

When the catastrophe erupted and gravity collapsed, my boss and ex-girlfriend, dragging their mangled bodies, knelt outside the ten-meter-thick tungsten steel door, frantically kowtowing, begging to be brought in as dogs. I, however, holding a Romanée-Conti, coldly pressed the gravity strangulation button.

The Abyss Era, the Old Gods are all dead. On this wasteland, only I sit high on my icy throne, establishing absolute laws.

The wife in the cryogenic chamber had only three minutes left.

I had an iron hook pierce my collarbone, and my knees shattered while kneeling at a lavish banquet. Wine glasses smashed at my feet, flashbulbs were pointed at my face, and everyone was laughing—the former war god of the North, now less than a dog.

Victor stomped on the remote control and smashed it.

When the red light of the three-minute countdown popped up, I raised my head. The sealing nails on my shoulders were blasted away by the qi, and what surged from the dark golden depths of my eyes made the entire building tremble.

He crushed over a hundred mercenaries with a single punch.

He tore open the alloy gate with his bare hands.

One hundred thousand black-armored demons knelt down from the darkness, and their commander cut off his own arm to plead guilty.

I pressed the full-frequency communication button, draped in a blood-patterned cloak: "Seven days. Make the three great empires hand over the restorative herbs. If even one herb is missing—wipe out the entire nation."

He knelt before his wife, he fought his way through the world for her. The moment she awoke was the beginning of this world paying its debt.

"You good-for-nothing should get out and save your food rations. I'll use your truckload of supplies for you!"

The man-eating scarlet spores swept through the town. My good brother locked the security door tightly and locked me in the corridor filled with blood mist.

He stared intently at me through the peephole, waiting to see the horrific sight of my internal organs being drained by the fungus.

But a second before I was devoured by the spores, I hid in my personal space and with a single thought drained the last drop of water and every grain of rice from the room.

Three days later, in this impregnable "vacuum tomb".

When he was so thirsty that he swallowed blood, and knelt on the ground desperately pounding on the door.

I kicked the door open, tied him up with nylon rope, and hung him upside down in the blood-red storm outside the window.

In the apocalyptic freeze, temperatures plummeted to seventy below zero. The earth was encased in ice, and ice beasts roamed everywhere.

I risked my life to scavenge for food, covered in wounds, enduring cold and hunger, leaving all our meager supplies for my parents and brother.

I thought blood was thicker than water, that all the suffering and hardship was worth it.

But I never imagined that when our resources ran out, the family I'd protected with my life would reveal their true beastly nature. They ambushed and knocked me unconscious, tied me to an ice pillar, planning to use me as food rations—to eat me alive.

At the moment of near death, the ice jade my grandfather left me suddenly shattered. I awakened top-tier ice abilities, commanding frost and snow, controlling the extreme cold.

My kindness had been frozen to death by the bitter cold. Family meant nothing.

Those who betrayed me, deceived me, and tried to eat me—I wouldn't spare a single one.

After catching my girlfriend and my most hated nemesis in bed together, they ruthlessly pushed me down the stairs.

When I woke up again, the world had gone completely mad.

My girlfriend who betrayed me and my arrogant nemesis have both awakened "superpowers".

And I became a "useless" person without any special abilities, trampled under their feet.

But only my mutated eyes saw through the truth: it wasn't a gift of evolution at all, but a horrifying parasite crawling on their spines and sucking their brains! And my high and mighty nemesis was the swarm mother that was trying to devour all of humanity.

They laughed at me for being a worthless, honest man, unaware that my blood was a deadly poison capable of burning these monsters to ashes.

In an incredibly realistic precognitive dream, my vampire stepparents and nominal brother cruelly pushed me off the second floor to feed the zombies for half a moldy loaf of bread.

I opened my eyes to find less than 72 hours until the full-blown apocalypse!

To hell with hypocritical family ties! In this life, I decisively spent money to buy a shelter, unexpectedly awakening my spatial abilities! With a thought, I remotely emptied the largest warehouse supermarket in the entire state, and even used tens of tons of heavy steel plates to build an indestructible doomsday fortress!

When the zombie horde descended, order collapsed. I sat in my absolutely safe fortress, eating a tomahawk steak, watching the brutal family of three on the monitor, driven mad by hunger, even killing each other and cannibalizing flesh for half a biscuit.

They knelt in the blood-soaked floor, desperately crying and begging me to open the door and give them alms.

My fingertips danced with violent lightning power as I coldly hung up the phone: "The door is welded shut. You can enjoy hell outside!"

My fiancée, with whom I've been in a relationship for three years, has threatened to break off our engagement for the hundredth time, forcing me to donate a kidney to her adopted brother, who's faking illness and acting like a hypocrite.

My biological parents even threatened to sever ties with me: "You have a healthy body. Ian has nothing but us. You can't even bear to part with a kidney. You're so selfish and cold-blooded!"

They don't know that my hands, which I used to play the piano, had already been crushed by gangsters while cleaning up their mess; they also don't know that at this moment, I have a critical illness notice for late-stage bone cancer in my pocket.

Seeing the undisguised disgust and indifference in my fiancée's eyes, I swallowed the taste of blood in my throat and calmly signed the consent form for the live organ removal.

"Okay, I'll donate. I'll give you back my life along with it."

Later, I died like a dog on the rusty operating table of a shady clinic, my bones and marrow completely drained.

But when I was truly reduced to dust and left without even a complete corpse... the truth about my vicious foster brother faking illness was exposed.

The aloof and arrogant female CEO who once treated me like trash went completely mad overnight.

She knelt desperately before my nameless grave, plunged a sharp knife into her abdomen, and collapsed in a pool of blood, pleading for me to see her one more time.

Everyone envied me—a penniless orphan who married into a wealthy family. My husband, Gabriel Sterling, is handsome, charming, and filthy rich.
But what they don’t know is, our marriage is nothing but a show. We share a bed, but not dreams or words. To the world, he’s the perfect husband, but at night, he calls out another woman’s name in his sleep.
Even after I gave him twins, I couldn’t thaw his icy heart.
So I filed for divorce, taking the mighty CEO to court.
I left everything behind—kids, money, the mansion—just to cut him off for good. For the first time, I saw fear in the eyes of a man who always had everything under control.
After I walked away, he was left with crying babies and a cold, empty bed. Without me, his luxury villa was nothing but soulless concrete.
By the time he realized he’d fallen for his ex-wife, I’d already become the heiress he could never reach.
When we met again, I looked at him and said calmly, “Mr. Sterling, if you want to chase me, get in line. You should go home and take care of the kids.”
He held a child in each arm, smiling faintly. “They’re too little to be without their mom. I’m giving them back to you.”
As the servants carried the twins’ luggage inside, he popped out of a giant box and grinned shamelessly, “I’m their life-sized toy. Or you can think of me as a smart robot—with free bed-warming service included.”

Intro: At Cavendish Manor, wishes are real. So is the price. The moment one hundred million dollars hit his account, Leo started grinning, drooling, his skin turning gray. His father looked at him without a single tear, straightened his tie, and said: I want my company to be number one in the world. Twelve heirs, one after another, spoke their wishes. Money. Power. Beauty. With each wish, the shadows on the ceiling grew darker. I'm just an ordinary exorcist. None of that interests me. I only want to protect my client and push back against that invisible thread of fate.

Intro: Reborn three years into the past, I watched coldly as my scheming ex-girlfriend and my so-called sworn brother got together—the same two who had conspired to frame me in my past life. They had no idea that in all of Silvermist City, I was the only one who could devour dragonbone shards—if that certain lady wanted to survive, she would have to kneel and beg me to fall in love with her again. And my dear brother, who'd sweet-talked his way into the royal box? He probably hadn't calculated how many seconds that golden voice of his could burn for.

In this era of universal awakening, I've drawn the most tragic "BOSS" route.

For the sake of my fiancée Celine's guild, I signed an exclusive binding agreement. For four whole years, I was treated like an ATM for loot drops, and was mercilessly killed 2173 times.

When Celine led 137 elite members of her guild, armed with a permanent kill item, to stab me in the heart, preparing to dig out my core to pave the way for her new love, she thought she was about to usher in the supreme glory of being the first to kill me on the entire server.

But what she didn't know was that the hidden max-level reward for the BOSS route was "system administrator privileges".

The sword tip stopped at my chest, freezing time across the entire server. I looked at the greedy traitor before me, smiled, and pressed the "Level Reset" button.
"Sorry, this game is now in my hands."

Strip away god-tier equipment and wipe out max-level accounts. This time, I will bring down the reigning number one in the entire server, making him start from level 1 in the newbie village and personally pay the price for those two thousand bloody battles!

To save my sister, I humbly married into her family, only to be treated like a parasite by my ex-wife, who was worth billions, and suffered endless humiliation.

When she stopped giving my sister her life-saving medication for her male best friend, I was completely desperate. On a snowy night, I plunged off a cliff with my car, and my body was never recovered.

It wasn't until the police presented her with her charred belongings and the truth about how I risked my life to save her that the once aloof woman went completely insane.

Three years later, I rose from the ashes as a multi-billionaire, while she knelt at my feet like a dog, begging and pleading, "Please... just look at me one more time..."

In my last life, I was killed by the wife I loved most. Reborn once again—will I fail this time too? When magic that sweeps across the world descends, in this life, love finally breaks through the curse.

I spent ten years turning a thug into a top boxer, but he and my wife kicked me out of the game, mocking me for "not understanding business and being outdated."

I didn't argue, and turned around to pick up a homeless man who had fought in underground boxing matches on the roadside.

A year later, the homeless man's apprentice knocked out the defending champion with one punch and won the gold belt; while that ingrate who betrayed me was beaten into a cripple in the underground boxing ring.

The geniuses you all think they are are nothing more than half-finished products under my tutelage!

Seven days before the doomsday outbreak, the wild weeds by the road spoke to me: The zombies are coming.
I rushed home, intending to take my fiancée and flee for our lives.
But outside the door, I overheard her plotting with her boss on the sofa, scheming to drain all my wealth.
"He’s just an orphan with no family or connections. No one would care even if he dies."
I didn’t push the door open.
Instead, I quietly cashed out all my assets overnight and built an impenetrable island fortress without delay.
Seven days later, the zombie hordes surrounded the city.
She and her entire family were chased by the monsters, covered in blood and mangled.
They knelt frantically kowtowing and begging for help right outside my explosion-proof gate.
I coldly locked the door tight.
"You were right," I said. "No one really cares if you die. Just go in peace."

Intro: I'm an S-Class superhuman, but I was locked in a basement for five full years, subjected to inhuman abuse and torment. All they wanted was to drain my blood and energy dry. I once believed that if I could just endure it all, I would see my family again. Until my wife Valen's voice came through the intercom and revealed that it was all a lie. I will turn my fury into strength and tear it all apart with my own hands.

At minus sixty degrees Celsius, my girlfriend of three years and my childhood friend teamed up to push me out of the bomb shelter and beat me to death in the snowstorm.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back fifteen days before the extreme cold arrived, and my phone had a new "Doomsday Farm" app.

Rapidly growing mutant crops and an infinitely large, temperature-controlled warehouse became my biggest trump card for rebirth.

Faced with two people who came with luggage under the pretense of "accompanying me" but actually plotted to seize the property rights of my underground research institute, I calmly turned them away, sold all my properties in the city, and headed straight for the suburbs with a huge sum of money.

Within fifteen days, I welded the abandoned research institute into a heavily insulated steel fortress.

When the epic cold wave arrived ahead of schedule, those who had betrayed me were trapped in an old apartment without water or gas, tearing each other apart over a tattered quilt.

I'm sitting in a 20-degree underground farm, eating hot stewed beef, drinking hand-drip coffee, and quietly watching them on the monitor slowly turn into ice sculptures.

In this life, having let go of my desire to help others, I simply want to live comfortably in this Ice Age.

Fourteen years. I guarded every line on the East Coast for Victoria's crime family. Six weeks. A young newcomer took away every ounce of my authority. Victoria said, "There's no need to be so sensitive." I understood her choice. I took off my ring in the council chamber, and walked away.

In order to prolong the life of my supposedly sick "white moonlight" (my love interest), my wife forced me onto the operating table and removed my kidney while I was still alive.

To force me to leave with nothing, she even cut off my mother's medication, coldly declaring, "Your mother is just a liability that deserves to be optimized."

She thought I would wag my tail and beg for mercy like a stray dog.

Little did she know, suffering from single kidney failure, I transformed myself into the deadliest viral code before my death, dragging her business empire and that male mistress into an inescapable hell.

On the day the truth came to light, the once-powerful tech queen went completely mad. She squandered her fortune, kneeling in the frost of the morgue, kowtowing and weeping blood, begging me to look at her one last time. But she couldn't find a single hair of mine.

Because I had already made a will, ordering my remains to be cremated as high-risk medical waste.

She treated me like dirt when she was alive, and after she died, I found her disgusting and didn't even bother to leave her a handful of ashes.

To honor a vow to "protect her for a lifetime," I used my flesh and blood to shield her from a fatal impact in a deadly car crash. My heart was severely shattered, leaving me barely clinging to life with a pacemaker.

Concealing my identity for five years, I single-handedly dragged her from bankruptcy and crowned her the new royalty of Wall Street.

Yet, on the eve of her IPO, just to curry favor with a powerful tycoon, she knocked away my life-saving medicine, forced me to kneel and shine shoes in public, and finally kicked my gravely ill body out into a sub-zero Brooklyn blizzard.

My dying pleas for help only earned her impatient mockery: "Save your playing dead tricks for the ghosts."

When my pacemaker completely shattered in the howling snow, that submissive Arthur died.

Armed gunships descended, and a military-grade tactical heart violently rebooted my pulse! When I opened my eyes again, I was the Supreme Commander who cast terror over the global underground.

When I crushed her capital empire with a single hand and the truth was finally revealed, she knelt in the muddy rain, frantically slapping her own face, sobbing and screaming to give her life back to me.

I flicked the ash from my cigar, my gaze as cold as looking at trash: "My wife died in the blizzard. You are just a stranger who crawled up by stepping on half my life."

Here is the English translation, tailored to match the gritty, dramatic, and satisfying tone typical of apocalyptic revenge web novels:

In my previous life, I was drained to the bone by the so-called "Doomsday Evolution System," forced to watch as my best friend and fiancée stepped over my corpse to scavenge my supplies.

When I opened my eyes again, I had regressed to exactly three days before the apocalypse. When that faint blue, glowing "cheat" materialized once more, I decisively took a step back, watching my enemies fanatically claim it for themselves. They thought they had grasped the key to ruling the doomsday. Little did they know, they had just swallowed a parasite that would devour its host.

Then, the extreme cold descended, and toxic spores blotted out the sky.

Using my knowledge of the future, I struck a deal with a female black-market boss, packing an underground bunker with tons of supplies and heavy firepower. Sipping hot coffee in front of the control room monitors, I sat back and enjoyed the show. I watched my enemies be systematically stripped of their sanity, sacrifice their companions, and ultimately degenerate into mindless, mutated lumps of flesh driven only by base instincts.

In this man-eating apocalypse, I refuse to touch any bizarre parasitic "gifts." Thick alloy doors and an endless supply of ammunition—that is the only true law of survival in the wasteland.

On the eve of the apocalypse, I awakened a survival system: send me $5,000, and the sender can unlock a safehouse and awaken a life-saving ability.
The first person I told was Chloe, my girlfriend of three years. In return, she humiliated me in public and cheated on me without a shred of remorse.
That was the moment I finally gave up. The "nice guy" she had drained dry was dead for good.
One month later, the zombie horde arrived right on schedule. For old times' sake, I saved her one last time. And she repaid me by shoving me straight into the jaws of the mutated dead so she could save herself.
What she didn't know... was that I wasn't the only one who had awakened powers.

To atone for my fallen brothers, I concealed my identity and willingly played the role of a worthless loser in the eyes of my influencer wife.

I swallowed her endless abuse and the humiliation from her wealthy new suitor. I thought that by dragging my dignity through the mud, I could finally buy peace for my soul.

Until that day. Desperate for livestream traffic, she and her crew violently smashed down my door. She shattered the pocket watch left behind by my comrade's mother. She threw the casualty list—stained with the blood of my Special Forces unit—into the filthy water, trampling it underfoot while hundreds of thousands of netizens mocked me online.

They had no idea that every single name on that ledger was once a sharp blade that guarded this nation.

Staring at the soiled hero's insignia, I finally realized that submission would never bring redemption. I wiped the mud from the relics and dialed a long-dormant encrypted terminal:

"Operation 'Reckoning'—initiate full activation."

Since a shield can no longer protect my faith, it is time to draw the sword of judgment.

When the apocalypse arrived, my girlfriend, driven by vanity, exposed my unlimited resource space and incited starving people to kill me and feed me to the zombies, while she herself stepped on my flesh and blood to become the "savior goddess".
But she didn't know that I mutated amidst the pile of corpses and awakened into the only zombie tyrant.
I corrupted the space, cut off food supplies, led a horde of tens of thousands of zombies to besiege the city, and threw a bounty at the starving mob: "Use her flesh and blood to exchange for a bite to eat."
Watching the once-lofty Mother Teresa torn to pieces, kneeling at my feet weeping and begging for mercy, I laughed. Moral blackmail? Sorry, I'm the Zombie King now.

While I was being kidnapped, tortured, and murdered in the horse stable of our own family farm, my all-powerful chaebol fiancée was helping my green tea younger brother try on wedding attire.
Before dying, with my broken, blood-stained finger, I dialed the last desperate call for help.
On the other end of the phone, her tone was filled with scorn and impatience: "Vincent, can't you even tolerate a little grievance from your younger brother? Let's just cancel the engagement, and I'll replace you with him as the groom."
Later, I truly died.
My soul drifted in mid-air, watching coldly as the whole family thought I was faking death to make a scene. My older sister even kicked over my disfigured body on the haystack in disgust: "Get up right now, stop pretending to be pitiful here!"
Until the flashlight's beam completely illuminated my ghastly, rigid face, and the shattered phone screen, still stuck on the moment she hung up, clutched tightly in my dead hand...
That forever aloof, arrogant female CEO finally went weak in the knees, kneeling in the foul-smelling, blood-soaked filth, and utterly lost her mind.

My wife had an affair.
Not only that, she casually indulged her lover over the phone, allowing him to crush the bones of my right hand, known as the "Hand of God," right in front of our six-year-old child, with a stomp of his shoe. I could never hold a tool again.
Natalie thought I was just a poor, pathetic loser earning a dead-end salary, so she brazenly let her gigolo trample all over me.
But what she had no idea of was that her proud identity as a transnational female CEO was merely a toy casually tossed to her by the top old-money family I belong to in New York.
When dozens of bulletproof armored vehicles smashed through the gates and my father, the patriarch, descended like the god of death, her arrogant self finally crumbled like a stray dog.
She screamed and jumped into the icy, bone-chilling lake to retrieve the diamond ring I had discarded, wailing and begging to chop off her own hand to compensate me.
But I just held the stunning British Duchess in my arms, watching coldly as she fell into an abyss of eternal damnation.
This love, tainted with shit, whoever wants it can have it!

In the seventh year of being a stay-at-home husband, I discovered the son I cherished as the most precious treasure in my life was actually the illegitimate child of my wife and her male best friend.
To conceal the scandal of her infidelity, my CEO wife, worth millions, joined forces with her male best friend in a grand deception. They single-handedly destroyed my artistic career, transforming me into a free nanny raising their illegitimate child.
Upon learning the truth, I didn't lose my composure.
I calmly presented the divorce papers and the paternity test report proving no biological relation, then turned and walked away without looking back.
Later, that ever-lofty wife, the one who had once publicly doused me with ice water for her male best friend, was utterly consumed by regret and fury.
She kicked the scoundrel to the curb. In front of a crowd, she pressed a switchblade to her own throat, casting aside all dignity to kneel on the ground, crying and begging me to look at her just once more.
I didn't even blink. My voice was as cold as ice. "If you want to die, do it outside. Don't ruin my mood for coffee."

For three years of marriage, Nicholas Harrison only saw me twice a month—each time, just to fulfill his marital duties.
He was indifferent, knew nothing about me, and when our three-year agreement was up, he couldn’t wait to chase after his true love.
I turned away with a smile. “Nicholas, let’s get a divorce. I’ll set you free.”
From that moment on, I stopped expecting anything from him and threw myself into my career.
Soon, I was shining brighter than ever, standing at the top of my field—with no place left for him by my side.
But as my talent caught the world’s eye, Nicholas found himself drawn to me, again and again, unable to resist.
Only when I walked away for good did he finally learn the truth about our past.
He was full of regret, but I had already become a national treasure—someone far beyond his reach.
I told him, “I’m done being your billionaire wife……”

I lived as the Smiths’ daughter for seventeen years, only to find out one day that I was never really one of them—a fake heiress from the start. I didn’t hesitate. I cut all ties with the Smith family and returned to the struggling Johnsons. I didn’t even bother to pack—just took my phone and left.
People said I was in for a rough time. After all, I’d never gotten along with the Smith brothers, and now that I’d lost everything, they thought things could only get worse.
But what they didn’t know was this: the world-famous designer is my friend, the legendary doctor is my mentor, and the CEO of a major company is my childhood friend.
As for me, I’m a hit composer, a mysterious sculptor, and a young entrepreneur.
My classmates say I’m neither Ms. Smith nor Ms. Johnson—I belong to myself.
But my childhood friend just laughs and says, “She belongs to me, too.”

After Grace Foster married into the Hayes family, everyone eagerly awaited the day she would give birth to an heir for the ailing young master. Grace thought marrying Alexander Hayes meant she was doomed to a lonely life, especially since her husband was in a coma. But to her surprise, he suddenly woke up. Overnight, with nothing more than a divorce agreement, she was cast aside by the wealthy family.
Seven years later, Grace returns with two sons by her side—and a line of men eager to become their stepdad. The thing Alexander regrets most is forcing Grace to sign those divorce papers. Now, the once-proud man will do anything to win her back—showering her with love, even risking everything for her.
But winning her heart again isn’t so easy, especially when his two mischievous sons seem determined to stand in his way. Alexander never expected that the biggest obstacle on his journey to win back his wife would be these two little troublemakers!

The day I disappeared, everyone thought I went on a "recovery trip overseas." Only she knew that I was in her basement—being drugged, tied up, and forced to work, living as a tool, relying on the threat that "someone outside wants to kill you."

I helped her refine her perfume formula to the point where it could be launched on the stock exchange, and she immediately wanted to "fire" me: she poured cement into my house during a torrential downpour, hoping I would die in a hallucination.

But I didn't die, and I even managed to recover my memories piece by piece.

The moment the stock exchange rang, I cut off the live stream signal, exposing the recordings, evidence, and transaction records on the spot. She went from a genius entrepreneur to a public enemy, and her default on buybacks ballooned to billions.

Only then did she come after me: kneeling, begging for forgiveness, risking her life to block cars, and finally collapsing in a hospital bed waiting for my forgiveness.

Three years ago, I signed the Silver Vow for her, sealing away my supreme Alpha bloodline. I swallowed my pride in a greasy auto shop, living as a pathetic loser anyone could step on.
Three years later, arm-in-arm with a New York billionaire, she threw the divorce papers in my face and called me the only stain on her perfect life.
In a dark, rain-swept alley, three elite Lycans carried out their orders to shatter my limbs and dump me into the Hudson River.
As I lay dying, the Silver Vow finally shattered. The moment my eyes snapped open, every supernatural creature in Manhattan dropped to their knees—because the First Alpha, the king who united the European underworld a thousand years ago, had returned.

I was reborn twelve hours before the anomaly occurred.

In my previous life, I died tragically in a sea of fire, unable to even protect my three-year-old daughter.

In this life, I returned from hell with the "Shadow" that rules the abyss, only to discover that the only antidote to ending the wasteland lies in my daughter's palm.

Her ex-wife, who was possessed by a monster, the greedy military, and even "myself" who went mad across parallel universes all tried to tear her apart and suck her blood.

You want to harm my daughter? Fine. Then let's see if you can withstand this all-consuming polar night!

Seven days before the apocalypse, my vampire parents forced me to hand over three million to buy a house for my baby brother in full.

As an actuary, I knew that order would collapse in seven days and the money would become worthless. So I not only readily agreed, but also used their family's records as collateral to raise millions in high-interest loans, building an impregnable, top-secret fortress.

Seven days later, an unexpected change occurred.

The debt-collecting gangs and the endless horde of zombies drove them to the brink of despair. Meanwhile, I sat in a temperature-controlled safe house, sipping freshly ground coffee, calmly watching the cannibalistic karmic retribution unfold on the security camera.

In the apocalypse, there is no family affection, only the probability of survival.

In my past life, I gave away all my resources to protect them, only to have my girlfriend and best friend lock the security door themselves, leaving me to be devoured alive by zombies in despair.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back three days before the apocalypse.
I maxed out my credit cards, frantically stockpiled hundreds of tons of supplies, and built an indestructible steel fortress! When the bloody apocalypse arrived as scheduled, those traitors were frantically torn apart by monsters outside the door, crying and banging on the door for help.
I sat in front of the monitor, took a sip of hot coffee, and calmly pulled down the last steel gate.
"In this life, you don't even deserve to be dogs."

To win a smile from my icy wife, I stood for four hours in a London blizzard, only to be greeted by her returning hand-in-hand with her childhood sweetheart, who had just returned from abroad.

For three years of marriage, I had concealed all my sharp edges, solely to warm her heart.
Until company secrets were leaked, and she unquestioningly believed her childhood sweetheart's framing, locking me, who suffered from severe claustrophobia, in a dark, abandoned wine cellar for a full forty-eight hours.

Watching her arrogantly slam the "Clean Break Agreement" onto my bleeding face, I smiled.
The moment I signed my name, the humble Arthur who loved her died utterly in the abyss.

That night, my yacht ran aground and exploded.
And the first heir of the Vance conglomerate, missing for three years, officially took control of the global technology lifeline.

Six months later, betrayed and facing bankruptcy, she clung to my trousers like a dead dog on the red carpet of a top-tier banquet, weeping and begging me to start over.
I was arm in arm with a true socialite, and I didn't even lift an eyelid as I looked at the woman covered in mud on the floor:
"Security, throw this crazy woman who's dirtied the carpet away. Don't spoil my fun."

In my last life, I shoved my wife Sarah out of the path of an oncoming car and ended up critically injured myself.
My mother-in-law, determined to get her hands on my savings, secretly switched my medication with cheap knockoffs and left me permanently infertile.
Then she showed up at my office and made a huge scene, pressuring me to quit my job and become a full-time househusband.
As for her and Sarah? They had the nerve to move in some so-called lover who could "carry on the family line," then used my hard-earned money to support him under my own roof.
When the apocalypse hit, they locked me in a room and fed me to that infected homewrecker.
Now that I've been given a second chance, I look at the three parasites standing in front of me—mocking me, acting self-righteous...
I feel no anger. Only amusement.
Fourteen days until the zombie outbreak, and they're still dreaming about how to bleed me dry.
This time, I'm taking back every cent they stole from me—with interest.
And when the end finally comes, I'll be sitting inside my impenetrable safe house, watching with ice in my veins as they turn on each other in despair.

I took the blame for my wife and went to jail, thinking I was protecting our family.

Five years later, when I was released from prison, my mansion was confiscated, my company fell into the hands of my younger brother, and the woman I loved with all my heart was nestled in my brother's arms, mocking my misfortune.

They had been having an affair for a long time, and even my imprisonment was a conspiracy meticulously planned by this despicable couple! What makes me even more furious is that my precious daughter was abandoned on the street like a stray dog, and subjected to beatings and bullying by their illegitimate son .

They thought that by draining my blood, they could forever condemn me to oblivion.

But they forgot that I was once an unparalleled genius in the business world.

In my previous life, the apocalypse struck. I entrusted my last hope of survival to my best friend of twenty years, but the moment the zombies swarmed, he unhesitatingly pushed me into the horde to be his shield. My girlfriend of three years, standing high above, watched coldly, her face filled with relief at shedding a burden.

In the excruciating pain of being bitten to death, I was reborn 72 hours before the apocalypse.

Looking at the messages from that despicable couple on my phone, I calmly blocked and deleted them, then cashed out all my assets, hoarding three million US dollars worth of top-tier weaponry and massive amounts of supplies. The apocalypse

arrived as expected. When my scheming girlfriend and betrayed brother were chased like dogs by zombies, kneeling before my fortress, frantically begging for mercy,

I sat atop a mountain of supplies, holding an infinitely replicating spatial ring, a gun pressed against his kneecap, and sneered: "Want to live? Never in this lifetime."

In this life, I will not be a saint; I will be the sole king of this post-apocalyptic wasteland.

In my past life, I squandered all my wealth to support my fiancée's family, but when the extreme heat of the apocalypse arrived, she and her lover broke my legs, brutally drained my marrow, and devoured me alive.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the seven days before the apocalypse.

This time, I will never repeat the same mistake.

I decisively kicked away these cold-blooded parasites, canceled all my credit cards, and, with the true love who died to save me in my past life, built an indestructible, top-tier temperature-controlled fortress.

As global temperatures soared, Los Angeles became a scorching inferno, and the fiancée's family couldn't even get a sip of dirty water, ultimately being forced to resort to cannibalism and killing each other.

And I, sitting in a 22-degree air-conditioned room eating chilled watermelon, coldly watch this bloody live broadcast of dogs fighting each other.

The fires of hell have been lit, and your judgment has only just begun.