Fury Towards The Burning Heaven - Chapter 1030 - I Swear!

In the mainland of the dragon, humans can also cultivate. But even if human beings are stronge, they will still be suppressed by the dragons. The true ruler of the mainland is the Dragon!

Ning Qi was a young mafia boss on the earth, but was betrayed by his most competent subordinate who pushed him down the cliff. When he woke up, he found himself located in the dragon’s continent and became the 13th son of Champion Duke of Qin Tang empire. At the same time, the super dragon slaughtering system was also activated, which changed his fate.

Who are Ning Qi’s biological parents? Where are they? On this continent, how is Ning Qi’s past-life identity amazing?

Song Yi found herself transmigrated into a novel, becoming the female protagonist of an old-school Mary Sue story.Gentle, kind, beautiful, and graceful, she was the unattainable ideal in everyone’s heart. The aloof top student fell from his pedestal for her sake, while the reclusive young man fought against his family for her.All of this sounded quite nice, but there was just one problem – this novel had a bad ending!!!

Other people’s Alliance Heads are unrivaled in the lands, with an incomparable domineering air. With a shake of their arm they could cause a thousand waves to ripple throughout Jianghu.Tang Doudou practically wants to flip the table!Cook, warm the bed, warm the bed, cook… She’s completely been caught up in a goddamned cycle!After she finishes she still has to ask a phrase of husband-sama are you pleased?Uncle could endure but Auntie can’t endure!“Wife has worked hard. A moment in the spring night is worth a thousand pounds of gold, when we get home this husband will give you a massage!” This demonically charming black-bellied man’s phoenix eyes flashed as he smiled with a completely harmless expression.Tang Doudou looked to the sky speechless, …

“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.