Global Catastrophe: I Became the World Tree - Chapter 892 - 497: Becoming a Disciple

[All my novels contains mature themes this one included!! R18 Ahead. I'm damn good in it SO BEWARE!!!]Roger thought he’d seen enough horror and slaughter. But nothing prepared him for the day his mentor—an elite swordsman was ripped in half by something not even the gods should have created.Terrified, alone, and soaked in cold sweat, Roger fled deeper into a jungle that had swallowed countless heroes before him. But what awaited him wasn’t death. It was something far worse.A succubus.The succubus who drained him to his bones.He thought he would never woke up, but he found himself not dead, but reborn... in a temple carved from white stone, beneath the towering gaze of a statue unlike any god he had ever seen or heard.Then came the voice—deep, commanding, and ancient.“I am the God of Chaos. The ruler of the new world. The supreme—Hades.”With those words, Roger’s world unraveled.He was shown visions of a forgotten truth: the Ragnarok of the Gods was never an end, but a transformation. The six most powerful gods—righteous and evil—had not died, but merged. Their remnants gave birth to a being that defied all divine logic, a god born from contradictions: justice and malice, order and desire, light and destruction.Hades.Now, with a wicked grin stretching across the fabric of fate, the God of Chaos has made Roger an offer no sane man should accept... but no ambitious fool can resist.“So you want me to be your messenger? But what can I gain from it?” Roger asked with an expectant look.“Become my messenger I shall grant you the power to stand above all life—save for me.”But Roger is no noble hero. He’s a rogue, a pervert, a coward who cries when death knocks at the door. Yet he's also cunning, curious—and fatally tempted by power and the chance to live without ever bowing again.Now Roger a selfish bastard with a broken sword, a sharp tongue, and the spine to spit in a god’s eye must choose what kind of man he will become: pawn, parasite… or prophet of chaos.Now it looks like one bastard adventurer might just rewrite the fate of Nirn.

There were two daughters in Jiang Family. Each of them was as beautiful as flowers and jades.

Time had caught up with the famine season. One must be sold to survive.

Jiang Yun Zhu pulled the shorter stick and was taken away by a human broker.

Seven years later, Jiang Yun Zhu’s face was even brighter. She was dressed in rich clothes and surrounded by servants.

At this time, she was already the young madam of Marquis An Ping Manor. It went without saying, she was extremely honorable.

It turned out that the human broker sold her to Marquis An Ping Manor back then.

At this time, Jiang Yun Xiu’s face was battered by wind and frost. Every day, she worried about firewood and rice.

After receiving the brocade handed over by her elder sister, Jiang Yun Xiu gritted her teeth until blood came out. If she was the one who was taken away by the human broker…

Returning to the day of drawing lots, Jiang Yun Xiu snatched the short stick first. This time, she wanted to be the one above others.

Jiang Yun Zhu smilingly took the long stick. She thought it was so easy to go from a maid to the Young Madam of Marquis Manor?

Note: The wealth and honor in the heroine’s dream was earned by her own struggle, not by being sold.

Don’t get sold, live even better!

- Description from Novelupdates

Lan Xuan smiled gently as she said, “My dear sister, who told you to obstruct my path? Your man belongs to me, your dowry belongs to me, your everything, belongs to me.”

“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.