Harem Master: Seduction System - Chapter 242: Getting Closer to Saintess And Witch

"I'm starting to think you're the scariest monster in here." - And that's just what her friends say about her.When Emil...

A Lovecraft- inspired darker, grittier One piece fanfic. A fanfic based on emotion and madness. A fanfic not for the faint hearted.----------------Regret. I have been drowning in it for far too long. I’ve regretted every choice I’ve made, every mistake I’ve carried, every moment of my past. I’ve regretted the present I live, the path I walk. Even my future, uncertain as it may be, has been tainted by regret.But not anymore. I refuse to live under its shadow. Yet, I know the truth—I don’t have the power to escape it completely.Am I not like a flicker of flame? So fragile, so fleeting—one puff, and I’m gone.Regret has burdened me, weighed me down to make me climb the towering wall of greatness. But I press on.It was all I could do. All I ever wanted to do.

With the strongest experts from the 33 Skies, the Human Emperor, Lin Ming and his opponent, the Abyssal Demon King were embroiled in a final battle. It ended with the Human Emperor destroying the Abyssal World and killing the Abyssal Demon King. By then, a godly artifact, the mysterious purple card that had previously sealed the Abyssal Demon King, had long disappeared into the space-time vortex and tunneled through infinite space-time, with a loved one of Lin Ming accompanying it.

In the vast wilderness, where martial arts was still slowly growing in its infancy, several peerless masters tried to find their path in the world of martial arts.

A young adult named Yi Yun from modern Earth had unwittingly stumbled into such a world and began that journey with a purple card of unknown origin.

It’s a magnificent yet unknown true martial art world. This is the story of a normal young adult turning into a legendary peerless expert.

“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.