The Law of Webnovels - Chapter 19

When I opened my eyes, I found myself trapped in the very novel I despise most, and to make matters worse, I became Samuel Gebb, the tragic main character. Samuel's wife constantly brings other men into their home, and he’s forced to endure her mowns with other mens.But here's the twist: I’m not Samuel. I’m the Heavenly Demon, a being feared by the world for my martial prowess.In my first life, I was just an ordinary student who read this novel and became deeply depressed for months. In my second life, I took on the role of the Heavenly Demon and conquered the world. Now, if Abigail, the female lead, thinks she can control me like she did with Samuel, she’s gravely mistaken. I’m going to ensure she pays for what she did to Samuel.In the novel, Abigail claims she never slept with any men, but I don’t believe her, even if she’s telling the truth. I’ll make her regret the three years she tormented Samuel.Original Novel: The Marriage she turned into War.Author POV: this was utterly disgusting Novel and I'm seriously thinking why Webfic wrote it and what is the reason for Author to make Main character Suffer So much, So this will be more like a Fantasy Friction of Original and I'm gonna make sure this Novel will be MasterpiecePlease don't get me wrong but after Reading the Original Novel I'm having Trust Issues with Love and Marriage but will see if I want to make Main character to Ship with someone or to Give him Harem.

There are two gods in the world, one lives in people's hearts and is dead. The other lives in reality and is alive.He is a person, he is named God. Yes, he is the one being talked about.He has returned from Hell.

The dead cannot speak.

It means the living can create any story they want.

Inheritance, honor and wealth can be taken away by lies.

However, what happens when a person, who was presumed to be dead, returns alive?

“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.