MTL - Longevity Chart - Chapter 121 Emerald Fire, Shenyin Bell

Theme: World Creation, Gods, Mixed

Matthias died and became something that he least expected.

”I.. Am God?“

Join Matthias as he travel through galaxies and create all things.

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What would you do if you suddenly gained a power that no mortal man could hope to achieve?

What would you do if all creation suddenly bowed to your power and glory that only lofty Emperors could have?

Heaven and Hell submits to your power, The Immortal Realm fears your existence, The Mortal realm bows before your presence.

Would you like for all the realms to bow and praise even your shadow? All gods to bow before you? The Earthly Kings and Heavenly Rulers to sonorously chant your glorious name?

Or would you like to live the life of mortal men that are doomed to die? Understand poverty and loftiness? Powerfulness and powerlessness? Comprehend knowledge that arrogant gods wouldn't be able to?

Or would you like both?

Join him as he tries to live a life of a True God, Ruler of Creation.

”Are gods the greatest existence in all of the cosmos? No. Why? Gods are only worshipped by mortals who couldn't reach their power. Gods will be powerless in front of true power. They would be powerless in front of me.“

For Chen Cheng, thirty means interest—the interest rate.From 3,000, to 100,000, to a million, to ten million, and then to over a hundred million...An ever-increasing amount of principal, an endless stream of interest.With money generating money, compounded interest calculations made Chen Cheng exclaim:This money can't be spent! Absolutely can't be spent! For a lifetime, I can't finish spending it!

I became a miserably weak aristocrat in the web novel ‘SSS-Class Knight’.

With a body that can drop at a moment’s notice, no less.

‘Let’s live for now. Let’s fight on.’

I have to survive, even without knowing the ending.

“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.