Re:write The Authors Transmigration - Chapter 311: Running out of time [4]

After losing his parents in a car accident, Ryan immediately caught his fiancee cheating on him with his best friend. In just a few days, he lost everything he loved, so Ryan decided to buy a house in the mountains to process all those events. However, something happened before he could even enter his new home: the end of the world. Monsters began to appear out of nowhere, and dragons began to dominate the skies. After losing everything, Ryan, who had lost his sense of reality, found new goals with the world in that state: survive and get stronger. Dungeons, classes, monsters, skills, the chance to obtain the DNA of other monsters... Ryan was decided to use them all because he no longer would become a spectator in his own life. Maybe with power, he won’t lose anything anymore. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

“What? The wild chickens I raised are pure blood phoenixes? ““What? The carp I raised are true dragons?”With a wave of hand, the river was cut off; with a slight stamp of foot, the mountain collapsed.A group of incredibly powerful cultivators knelt in front, worshipping and calling ‘senior’.“What the hell wrong with this world?”Li Fan shouted,” Oh no, that’s impossible!”“How could I possibly be a Supreme Master?!”

From ancient times to the present, it is rumored that there is a spiritual realm in the world.

Regarding the theory of the spiritual realm, celebrities and scholars in the past dynasties have different opinions. The poem records:

“From Qi to Tang, Zishan?

“The spiritual realm is indescribable, and it is difficult to ask for forgiveness for ghost workers.”

- 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.