Dear Immortal Tyrant - Chapter 18 - From Another Life

Aubree descended the mountain and became the real young miss of the Aubree family in River City.No one in the Aubree family liked this little Buddhist nun who came out from deep mountains. They gave the fake daughter their utmost care while warning the real young miss to discard all ideas of replacing the fake daughter's place.Aubree did not fight. She ate vegetarian food and read Buddhist scriptures every day—void of lust and desires.Her younger brother got caught in a huge lawsuit. Mrs. Aubree went through a lot of trouble to invite the First Lady to plead for mercy only to receive merciless ridicule. “I'll give you a second chance on Master Aubree's account.”Mrs. Aubree, “?”Mr. Aubree's company was in a crisis and was in desperate need of money. In his attempt to gain the richest man's favor, the rich man merely responded with a gaze full of despise. “You tend to take fish eyes for pearls. I think you've developed an acquired taste in your investments.”Mr. Aubree, “?”The fake daughter wanted to ruin the real daughter's reputation at a banquet. Eventually, everyone ended up realizing that the real young miss of the Aubree family was as beautiful as a fairy with a kindred heart.Fake daughter, “?”The crown prince of the wealthy, Qu Feitai, was also a top celebrity in showbiz. Being at the center of attention, he could summon a tempest whenever he wanted.When he participated in a variety show, a frail female guest appeared. She chopped wood with her left hand and pulled noodles with her right hand. Steaming, boiling, and cooking; everything was a piece of cake to her. As someone horrible at maintaining an orderly life, he was dumbfounded.During the live broadcast of the International Junior League finals, his cousin, who was known as a genius in Go, was extremely anxious. On the other hand, the familiar-looking beautiful girl opposite him was calm and composed, ending him in one move.His high-flyer best friend cried to him, “After your goddess transferred over, I can never surpass being in second place anymore.”Qu Feitai, “How many surprises do you have that I don't know about?”Until one day, he actually saw her discussing scriptures and Buddism with a group of old monks at an international Buddhist exchange. As she started to speak of Buddhist Dharma, Qu Feitai panicked…“You keep your six senses pure and saw through the vanity of the world, but I insist on dragging you here for a walk in the mortal realm. Worse comes to worst, you'll ascend to nirvana and I'll end up in hell.”

Tunnel Rat is being revised. I have finished the revised manuscript for Book one, which comprises Chapters 1-60.

At some point, the first book will be published on Amazon. A few chapters and an outline of the first book will be left here on RR, and the bulk of chapters 1-60 will be removed, stubbing the book. I will give warning before that happens.

Milo lives in a steel cave within a man-made mountain of steel and concrete. He spends his days repairing the machinery that keeps the habitat livable and tinkering with the prosthetics that help his twisted body move about through the small tunnels and air shafts that are his world. He's as much a piece of discarded machinery as the equipment he keeps running.

Given a chance at being someone different will he become a hero and live in the sunlight? The light beckons, but there are secrets buried in the ground. Ancient mysteries left by races that delved deep and stayed below. Maybe only a tunnel rat could find them?

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“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.

Objects from beyond the Earth have fallen; eyes of crimson see through the cosmos.All the stars in the sky are enemies of humanity.They call me a false god, but only I fly above.The world is sick, gravely so.I will heal it.