Industrial Strength Magic - Chapter 30: A Night In

The Prea gods, who saved humanity from living as slaves to other races and established the human empire, passed down their bloodline. Those who inherited their blood were born with magical talent and could become wizards. After thousands of years, the empire fell, and the world became ruled by great masters across different regions.He was a young man who grew up with his mother, never knowing who his father was. Though he possessed tremendous magical abilities, he lived as a shepherd in a rural village. Now he ventures out into the world to discover the secrets of his bloodline.

I can see ghosts. Even the ghosts inside games. But then…”Ah! Not there, over that way! My family heirloom is hidden there.” The ghosts in the game keep revealing hidden pieces to me.

What would you do if you found yourself in the body of a woman married to a prince?What's more, he isn't just any prince—he's a beast, cursed by the moon.---Aveline, a rising actress in 2024, finds herself thrust into an unfamiliar world after a stage 'accident.' All she ever wanted was the spotlight, not a husband or a lover. But everything changes when she wakes up in the body of a woman who looks exactly like the person who caused her accident.Now, she's married to a cursed prince who's out for her blood. The only way back to her time? Make this ruthless, feared prince fall genuinely in love with her!How can someone who's never believed in love conquer the heart of a beast?Lord help her if she fails.---(Warning: MATURE CONTENT! NO RAPE!)--Welcome, dear readers, both new and old, to my latest novel! I hope you enjoy this thrilling journey with Ave and Prince Lucian. If you haven't already, be sure to check out my other books:- Wife Of The Demon Prince- Bound To The Ice Dragon King- Loving The Temperamental AdonisHappy reading!

“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.