I’ll Quit Being a God - Chapter 28

Gaining a god-level talent at the beginning and becoming an enchanter, Zhao Xing chose to go with the country and let the country take him to level up!Skill enchantment: Unlimited [Knock Back], no matter how high the enemy’s level is, one punch will force knock back!Space rule enchantment: Common ring, enchanted as [space ring]! The sea is open to all rivers!Conceptual enchantment: Ordinary key, enchanted as [Master Key]! Open the doors to all ruins!When the strong men of China came to the battlefield with Zhao Xing’s enchanted equipment, the foreigners went crazy:France: “Fuck! This is the level 100 version of China’s land reclamation, and we are still at level 60?”Japan: “Wori, why is China’s equipment so perverted!”British: “Oh my god, the advanced dungeon has been completely occupied by China.”Feilu Novel Network exclusively signed a contract with the novel: “Everyone: God-level Enchanter, the Country Takes Me to Level UTakes Mep”; this novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarities are purely coincidental and should not be imitated.

[Short Story] [Food Writing] [Sweet Little Cake] One day Ding Sha got transmigrated into a book, with a baby of unknown parentage in her belly.

Upon closer look, the baby turned out to be the male lead from a previous angsty novel she read.

A poor little thing unloved by his parents.

So impoverished that her stomach rumbled, but armed with superb cooking skills, she transformed herself from Ding Sha into the boxed lunch beauty at the construction site.

Kung pao chicken, garlic baby bok choy, spicy pork belly, tossed noodles – she cooked up a storm.

Before the construction workers could feel the stirrings of spring in their hearts, the baby’s father suddenly appeared.

Jun, carrying a travel bag stuffed full of cash, squatted outside the door gazing longingly at Ding Sha’s slightly bulging belly.

“Wife…I’m back…”

A 1v1 sweet doting story without abuse, a light and fluffy little sweet cake, safe for consumption.

Once upon a time, a boy was referred to as a “War Hero.”

In another world called Aletia, the boy who had saved the Lost Kingdom, conquered their neighbouring countries, and led to the rise of a grand empire decided to throw everything away, returning to the modern era at the cost of his memories.

As three years passed, the boy who was happily enjoying his daily life was once again called back to the other world.

However, what awaited him was the Aletia of 1000 years in the future.

As his past glories became a “myth,” the legend of the youth referred to as the, “Twin Black Hero King,” begins.

“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.