MTL - Battling Records of the Chosen One - Chapter 3161 Creative ideas

Everyone told Wei Yingluo that her sister had taken her own life. But the mark left on the corpse told a different story. To unearth the truth, she entered the Forbidden City during Emperor Qianlong’s 6th year of reign.

After investigation, she found her sister’s death related to Prince Hongzhou, and became determined to avenge her. The kind Empress Fucha, worried that Yingluo would stray onto the wrong path, took her under her wing. With the help of the Empress, Wei Yingluo grew to be an honest and strong female official in the palace, letting go of her resentment and living her life seriously from then on.

Yet the Empress passed away unfortunately, causing Yingluo to misunderstand Emperor Qianlong. Hostile against each other, could they understand and support each other in the end?

- Description from Novelupdates

Four years after the Third Nightmare, something unexpected happens. A group of people find themselves in a strange theatre, which tells them to react to someone's story...?

The legend of the continent, the battle that brought fame; the Sacred Phoenix Lady, the Windfire Meteor Godrealm saber-art; the pair that ascend and fuse, the golden sun and the blue moon, the fury of the crashing thunder. There is no magic, no battle qi, nor any martial arts in this land. However, there are martial spirits. Ten thousand years have passed since the founding of the Tang Sect on the Douluo continent, and it has declined. A new, proud generation of heaven’s chosen has been born. Can the new generation of Shrek’s Seven Devils rally the Tang Sect and once more compose the song of the Unrivaled Tang Sect?

“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.