Soaring the Heavens - Chapter 342: Splitting the Loot (2)

What will you do if you were transmigrated into the novel you were reading.Alex, an ordinary boy was faced with this reality as he was transmigrated into the novel he was reading. But there was a surprise there as he was not the main character or even one of the side character. He was an extra.*Ding[*Welcome to ARCANIA][Successor of the Apex]He became the successor of the strongest being in the world and was given a chance to live a whole different life than his past and he gladly accepted it as his past life was anything but good.But will his life be like those extra's who became cannon fodder or would it be whole different life ?Could he became powerful enough for a threat bigger than demons?****1-There no harem in the novel.2- Our mc is overpowered and there will be no hiding of strength at least to some extent.3 I am new at writing so please if I make mistakes do tell me.

In the year 2220, a radiation source in the Pacific Ocean, tens of thousands of times stronger than a nuclear bomb has begun mutating exposed creatures into horrific monsters thousands of meters long. Mankind’s only hope was nuclear weapons, which only made matters worse. The combination of the natural radiation and nuclear radiation released an incurable and highly infectious virus, turning the 90% of the world’s population into violent zombies in mere weeks.

On the Continent of Heavenly Pulse, martial arts is revered, and the strong reign supreme. Young Master Chen Shaofeng used to live a carefree life, but an engagement forced him onto an unconventional path. With the Mountain and Sea Diagram, he obtains a heritage that shocks the world, builds a dominant path, treads on the Heavenly Pulse, breaks the heavens and earth, and achieves the peak as a War-god.

“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.