Da Xuan Martial Saint - Chapter 827 - 451: Discourse on Celestial Human_2

Nikola Tesla, the genius, a man who lost everything to balant capitalism and betrayal, awakens to find himself reborn as an orphan. What is this world? Why is he here? And will he once again fall for the capitalistic betrayal or pave his own way? What would happen if his genius adapts to cunningness of the society?

“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.

“Is this man not going to divorce me? Why does he still ask me to warm the bed every night?”

The three-year marriage had been torturing her like shackles. Finally, she decided to break free from this cage, only to find that she was pregnant with triplets. When she was leaving, she had no choice but to leave her daughter, who was in critical condition due to premature birth, to her ex-husband, and then she flew far away with her two sons.Several years later, she returned to the country and wanted to secretly visit her daughter, but was discovered by her ex-husband!“Who are these two little boys?”“How do I know? Maybe they are your offspring.”The man gnashed his teeth and was about to snatch the sons away. She stopped him at once and said angrily, “Have you forgotten how you treated me before? How dare you take my sons by force?”He sneered and picked her up in his arms, saying, “Babe, my target is not them, but you!”