The Cursed Prince - Chapter 980: Breaking Her Spirit

Wang Linchi transmigrates into a world where everyone has the chance to awaken after reaching adulthood. If the awakening is successful, they could obtain a power known as Soul Resemblance and could improve their abilities by embedding Soul Kinds.On one hand, Wang is very lucky for his parents left him a good set of Soul Kinds.On the other hand, he is out of luck because the Soul Kinds have been replaced by a low-quality one.How he knows that? He saw with his own eyes as those five Soul Kinds were deposited.

Before her death, Xia Wan has seen her own family being set up and killed, her beloved recognizing the wrong person as his savior, and their engagement party!

Even her upperclassman had run a blade through her chest, snarling spitefully, “Xia Bing will have everything with your death!

It was Xia Bing again! She stole all of Xia Wan’s accomplishments and her lover’s, but wanted her dead as well!

And yet, Xia Wan could not say a word against her! However, when she thought that her death was inevitable, Xia Wan was reincarnated to a day 18 years ago, when her whole family was still alive and before all tragedy began!

This time, she swore that she will have her family stay safe, healthy and happy.

Insincere skanks trying to stop her? She slapped them until they cry! Scumbags wanting to date her?

Xia Wan: Sorry, you’re too ugly. After chasing off everyone and finally earning some peace, Xia Wan was going to sleep when someone knocked on her door.

She opened it to find her beloved from the last life!

”Do I happen to fit your type?” The sight of his white shirt and slightly bared chest left Xia Wan clutching her bleeding nose.

Xia Wan: Men are too sexy in a white shirt! This is against the rules! A certain man: That doesn’t matter. Bringing my wife home is more important!

“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.

If an ancient scholar searches through the mists of history, he or she will find such an existence:Pope of the night,Angel of the Creator,The hidden emperor of the empire,…He is also the perfect mentor;Wanmen’s guidance,The original source of pain...No one knows where he came from, only that he was born with knowledge and has been with him for years.Let us chant his honorable name together:Spirit of truth, pure man, master of dreams, supreme beyond all eternity