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... raffickers tightly shut their mouths, nodding desperately, fearing they might anger the killer in front of them again.

"Very well, let’s go one by one, starting with you."

Zhong Lin pointed at an old man on the far right.

This old man had dark skin and a hunched back, looking just like an ordinary farmer in the field, yet who would have thought he was a notorious human trafficker.

"What’s your name? When was your last deal, and who was it with?"

The old ma ...

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Of the ancient gods only one remained in the world. This god lived alone for thousands of years and no longer had any desires. Legend had it that during the great war between the worlds he used his powers to turn the tide managing to seal the cataclysmic rift bringing order back into the three realms. Time flew by and hundreds of years passed in the blink of an eye.

In this time Shen Li was born into the demon world. Known as the Azure Sky King she was used to living a bright and dazzling life full of successes. Little did she know that her 1000th birthday would bring misfortune to her doorstep – a politically arranged marriage with her name on it. The Azure Sky King would henceforth marry the thirty-third grandson of the Heavenly Emperor, Fu Rongjun. This arranged marriage was meant to unite the Heavenly realm with the Demonic Realm, bringing the two together. Most would consider it good fortune to be related to the Emperor.

Unfortunately Fu Rongjun was infamous throughout the two realms for his Casanova personality. As the King who called the shots in the Demonic Realm, she had the ability to quell uprisings and end wars with a swing of her silver spear – there was absolutely no way she would marry such a flirtatious idiot. She had to escape from this marriage somehow even if it meant death!

In her escape Shen Li, never expected to meet a man that didn’t belong to any of the three realms. This oddball was truly strange!

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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.