The Beautiful Wife of the Whirlwind Marriage - Chapter 1512 Lure Her Ou

In 2006, Xu Xin had a dream. In the dream, he saw a bad entertainment circle. Desperate for gaining a position, and go to great lengths for traffic.

“In this case, why can’t we live as a beam of light?”

(High-definition, no code, no abuse, no dog blood, character guarantee, feel free to enter the pit)

- Description from novelbuddy

Tayar is currently embroiled in a brutal war.

The races of light are on the verge of exterminating the races of the fallen.

Led by humans with fearsome powers from another world, their victory becomes more and more assured with every passing battle.

But when the last member of a now extinct race of fallen suddenly appears, the entire world will be turned upon it's head.

……………………………………………………………

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In a parallel world, Fang Heng travels through an unlucky ghost who just committed suicide.

Ok? What? All humans in this world are forced to join the game?

shock! Will you be wiped out if you don’t play the game?

Good guy, this unlucky guy who committed suicide turned out to be an ex-professional player?

He actually has the highest-level S-level talent skill – Zombie Clone?

The S-level talent has actually been upgraded! Can my zombie clone hang up?

[During your offline period, your zombie clone group has completed the production of a wooden logging axe*720; you have gained basic production experience value: 1921].

[During your offline period, your zombie clones cut down 27,821 trees; you get wood*128,973, and you get skills-basic cutting experience: 2171921].

When the players were still struggling to survive in the zombie apocalypse, Fang Heng’s zombie clones had already begun to evacuate the entire forest.

Fang Heng: This game is a bit interesting.

- Description from novelbuddy

“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.