THE USELESS PRINCE - Chapter 42: Coldness and Darkness

My name is Charlemagne Theron, yes, that’s right, that’s the Theron you think of, and Ajan Lor’themar is my younger brother. Don’t call me Daqiang, or I guarantee you will be beaten to three quarters to death. As a reliable time traveler, I will tell you responsibly, I… “Charlemagne, what are you muttering, today is the day when my younger brother will inherit the position of Ranger General, you don’t want to be used by Cirvanas and Vereesa Hurry up when the arrow hits your nostril.” “…Okay, my dear Alleria, here we go.” When the two walked away holding hands, an imperceptible figure appeared on the spot. “Brother, I wish you a happy Shura field.” I am Charlemagne Theron, I have led the people to participate in the orc war, defeated the ancient gods and the second fool, I also fought against the Burning Legion, and I have made contributions to Azeroth , I bring salt for myself. (PS: Don’t call me Daqiang, unless you want to grow an arrow from a certain key part behind you.) Book Friends Q Group 257692874

- Description from novelbuddy

Everyone wants superpowers, including Alden Thorn.But even if he's lucky enough to be one of the few humans granted magical abilities by the extraterrestrial System that's been running things on Earth for decades, his goal of being a battlefield support hero is still a long way off.He's got determination on his side and maybe a murderous alien desk clerk, too.The universe is a complicated place. Alden's about to meet it.

Ye Xuan, the youngest Martial God of the Heavenly Realm, was ambushed by the four major powers of the Heavenly Realm, resulting in the destruction of his golden body, leaving only a wisp of his martial spirit to escape to the mortal world, reincarnating into the body of a noble family's scion, Ye Xuan, in the Daxia Kingdom.With all sorts of martial arts and divine-level techniques in his possession, from that point on, Ye Xuan shook off his reputation as a waste and defied destiny. Rising step by step from the bottom, he sought revenge for his father, pursued dominance over the mythical lands, traveled the spirit martial world, and returned to the pinnacle of being a Martial God, aiming for the supreme position.Treasure, beauties? Nothing poses a problem! Geniuses, monsters? They all bow at my feet!The peak of martial arts, defying the heavens, stepping on the Heavenly Realm, becoming the supreme!

“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.