MTL - Dragon Emperor, Martial God - Chapter 1847 Rebate gift

Long ago, there were people who stood upon the earth with their heads held high. They never bowed to anyone because of their indomitable spirit. They were capable of controlling wind and lightning, and conquering dragons and serpents. They seemed strong enough to split the earth and shatter the stars with their fists. They traveled throughout the land and called themselves Magi. Eventually, one of them would become a Supreme Magus! These men are the ancestors of human beings. Their blood is what we all share today.

Qing Long is the former strongest man in the world. He traveled through space and time and was reborn as Ji Hao in the Fire Crow Clan of the Southern Wasteland. It’s a complicated world. Forces from both inside and outside of the clan want this young and talented boy to die. Under great pressure, Ji Hao makes a deal with a mysterious man, who resides in his spiritual space, never showing his real face. He gains two drops of blood from a dragon and phoenix. Afterwards, Ji Hao becomes increasingly more powerful.

I became a scientist for an evil organization.…But I’m too competent.

When the apocalypse’s greatest villain self-detonated to destroy the world, Shen Qingjia died and was reborn a month after Doomsday. No power, no gold finger, no space, no way to gather food, just opened her eyes and not long after has to face fierce zombies!! What kind of non-mainstream rebirth is this ah?!

Escaping, she met a cute girl with a beautiful voice but found that she was the villain who killed everyone. For the sake of the peaceful and sustainable development of all mankind and her own safety, Shen Qingjia decided… to relentlessly reform (fall down with) her! !

Shen Qingjia, “What you want to do?! I don’t like girls… Don’t suddenly rush over!… So soft, I won’t accept, ah ah!!!”

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.