The Demonic King Chases His Wife: The Rebellious Good-for-Nothing Miss - Chapter 2417: Parting (2)

“Is this really a f*cking cannon fodder counterattack system???” Zhou ZiRuo transmigrated into a game and became a shapeshifting, cannon fodder, baby fox demon.

As a new (male) fox demon, he thought his task was only to counterattack the gold-fingered, peerless, super explosively cool, iceberg protagonist.

But why did the iceberg protagonist seem like he was possessed by a death god, with NPCs dropping dead left and right everywhere he went?

Why must he help the protagonist investigate the incidents or else the counterattack percentage would fall through the floor, leading to his death?

As Zhou ZiRou wearily investigated the supernatural cases, at the same time, he walked down the grand path of counterattacking the protagonist and kicking him to the curb.

Yet no one knew that under the iceberg protagonist’s calm and proper exterior was a heart that was both kuudere and wicked.

System: Congratulations! The counterattack was successful!

Zhou ZiRou: You motherf*cker, you never said that I’d counterattack into the role of the female lead ahhh!!!

- Description from Novelupdates

Time travel to the Xianxia game.

Wei Bujuan was forced to spend eight hundred years at the foot of Qingya Mountain.

For eight hundred years, the sky thundered and washed the body.

Qingya Mountain has become a restricted area of ​​life that everyone turns pale upon hearing.

Wei Bujuan has also become a taboo being rumored in the world of cultivating immortals!

…

The work “I Really Didn’t Target Faye” has already been completed, and all orders have exceeded 10,000. The quality is guaranteed, please feel free to taste it.

- Description from novelbuddy

“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.

When I woke up, my father was a nouveau riche whom everyone despised, and I had five great brothers: a black actor in the entertainment industry, a useless lawyer in the field of law, a sickly quack in the medical field, a plagiarizing dog in the design industry, and a school bully.