The Shadow of Immortality - Chapter 144: A Kingdom Built on Lies

When Skye Moonstone’s wedding is interrupted by her former, supposedly deceased betrothed: her life becomes a series of complications, mystery, and excitement.

Knowing only of the boy that he used to be, Skye finds herself drawn to the man that Prince Tidas has become. Intelligent, strong, and charismatic; he had decided long ago to do whatever it takes to protect the love of his life. No matter the risk to his body or soul..

Throughout her many trials, Skye will learn that her home, family, and even personal history are all stories meant to keep her safe. That her true purpose is not just to save her love, but her entire world. The fates of both Humans and Fae alike will rest upon her shoulders..

Intrigue, legends, and her place in it all will lead Skye down a path that she knows she may not come back from. But to save the lives of her loved ones, she’ll risk her very existence..

Whatever it takes to save them.

Magic, Fae, War, Fate; they all reside within this epic love tale of fantasy. All can be found within the Dawning Skye.. One simply needs to look.

I became the wife of a man with a lover. Well then, I guess I have to protect his chastity?

“You can sleep on the floor then.”

“What?” His eyes said he didn’t want to.

Well, yeah. The floor was hard. Then it couldn’t be helped.

“I’ll just hold your hand and sleep. You trust me, right?”

But, how come the bed broke on my first night with my husband?

*

Aristine, a princess confined out of the Emperor’s sight.

When in reality, she was the owner of the [Monarch’s Sight], able to see the future, past, and present.

She, who became the sacrifice for a political marriage, was married off to a terrifying barbarian…

“The most precious things should naturally be given to my bride.”

But her husband, whose monstrosity she prepared for, was way too normal.

However, he belonged to someone else.

‘I’ll go make money then.’

She might as well make the goldfields her own.

*

Can Aristine really achieve her dream of living freely on a pile of money?

Or will she end up killing two birds with one stone?

The world was consumed by a vile corruption brought from beyond – the sun dimmed, and life as we know it was almost extinguished.And yet it was not the end but merely the beginning.Long after the disaster, a lone survivor awakens with a newfound power to wield the divine flames and many questions about the past. He embarks on a long journey to burn the rot away, discover what's left of the old world and maybe, just maybe, ascend to divinity.

“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.