The God Virus - Volume 3 - 123 A Slap In A Dream?

Reincarnated into the Douluo Continent, inheriting the Emerald Scorpion Martial Soul, with no other options—what should you do if you’re forced to play with poison? Chen Ming declares: “If I’m going to play with poison, I’ll make sure to excel at it. As a transmigrator, even playing with poison, I’ll set an example worth following.”(Anti-Tang San, multiple female leads, no affiliation with the Spirit Hall, self-created divine position.)Raw Title: 斗罗：翡翠毒皇

Every story needs a great evil for the hero or heroine to defeat…

The wicked stepmother who torments Cinderella.

The fearsome dragon who kidnaps the princess.

The fake rich daughter who bullies the real.

An evil demon queen hell bent on destroying the world.

Yet sometimes these villains defeat the heroes.

Agent 214 has been tasked to enter these dangerous worlds and eliminate these evil villainesses before they have the chance to win.

But why is every story a little different than what it first seems?

TW: DARK ROMANCE FANTASY

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He was Chaos, the shattering soul that was deemed to wreak havoc and the cause of thousands of deaths.

Fear was a cloak that engulfed his existence.

He didn’t want anything except to find every piece of his damn soul, until the little white wolf entered his life. He wanted her.

Chaos didn’t care if he had to spill blood more than necessary, still he wanted her.

“You will put yourself in a battle against them,” He said begrudgingly. “Give up the girl.”

Yet, he stared into his eyes and he knew he wouldn’t be able to change his decision, as if it was already written on the stone.

“The girl stays. Touch her and I will show them what Chaos is.”

.....

[Longevity + Discipleship + No Female Lead + Lighthearted Humor with No Tragic Moments]When his master picks food, he spins the table there;When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.