Naruto: The Wind Calamity - Chapter 90 - 88 : Elemental Crystals

Warning: This novel contains explicit adult content, violence, and a ruthless anti-hero MC. Read at your own risk.I was the strongest player in the world—until they betrayed me.When I woke up, I wasn’t a player anymore. I was just an NPC. A nameless mob, doomed to be farmed for EXP and discarded like trash.But then, I heard it:(You have been killed.)(Unique Skill Activated: Infinite Resurrection.)(Each death makes you stronger.)Every time a player slaughters me, I steal their stats, their skills, and their power. I evolve beyond the system’s control, beyond the limits of this world.They thought I was nothing.They thought they could use me, farm me, erase me.Now, I am the final boss—and I will make them suffer.On the battlefield, and in my bed.They will submit. One way or another.

After dying alone in a mental institution, Fang Junrong discovered that she was the evil mother-in-law in a prominent family doting novel. Her daughter-in-law was the female lead who was loved by all.

In the novel, the female lead was kind and nice, and the male lead loved her so much that he’d die for her in a heartbeat.

Her future father-in-law doted on her and treated her better than his own daughter.

Fang Junrong, the evil mother-in-law, was the only one who didn’t care for her. She had gotten the evil character’s script and wanted to set the female lead up every chance that she got and finally landed herself in the mental institution.

After she was rebirthed and facing her son who wanted her blessings, Fang Junrong tore up the script. Whoever wanted the role of the evil mother-in-law could have it! She was going to get a divorce and take half of the money, then she’d figure out where she wanted to go from there!

“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.