Split Zone No.13 - Chapter 245

Yao Mo Xin, the empress of Da Chu died in a cruel way a day after she gave birth at the hands of her husband the emperor, Ye Hong Yi, and her legitimate second sister, Yao Shu Ran. Ye Hong Yi got the throne because of the smartness of Yao Mo Xin, but he hated her because she made him feel like a useless person who needed a woman to become the emperor.

Her soul got in the body of her illegitimate third sister from the same mother Yao Mo Wan. Yao Mo Wan has the mentality of a child because the legitimate wife of her father fed poison to her mother while she was carrying Yao Mo Wan. Yao Mo Xin wants revenge for everything that happened to her, so she seduced the emperor and began her plan of taking everything away from him. She did that while pretending to still have the mentality of a child. She also wants to repay Ye Jun Qing back for everything he did for her while she was Yao Mo Xin. In the process of revenge, she met many people who will fall in love with her wit and intelligence.

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Have you ever thought about cheating in real life?That’s exactly what happened to Eryke—one fateful day, while lazing on the couch, his life changed forever.Because he Awakened the SSS-Rank Clone Talent and everything became possible.From Dragon King to Telekinetic Grandmaster, from Heavenly Demon to Jiangshi King to Martial Lord, Book Taming!?...Eryke didn’t just gain power; he became the power itself.With titles stacking like second nature, the world became his playground.“With this broken cheat in my hands, anything is possible!”

“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.