I Inherited Trillions, Now What? - Chapter 168: Takeover

Rein Aster was just a herbalist farmer from a border village.A nobody. A background NPC in a story filled with prophecy and divine warfare.But by chance—or fate—he saves one of the 7 Demon Lords during a catastrophic war event. Instead of killing him, she falls for him.Obsessively. Violently. Eternally.And then… so do the others.Each Demon Lord tries to trap Rein as her personal lover/pet/priest/husband/god, building dungeons, illusion palaces, soul prisons—but Rein keeps escaping. Quietly. Cleverly. Never fully rejecting them—but never submitting, either.Why?Because Rein realizes something:The gods are worse than demons.The heroes are tyrants in shining armor.The world is collapsing—and he’s the only one they all listen to.So he hatches a plan:Use the Demon Lords’ love to take over the world.Pit them against the heroes. Unleash them on the gods. Make them fight for him. Make them kill for him. Then tame them all.Not as a king.Not as a savior.But as the lover they would burn the world for.__________The yanderes here are darker than what you might be used to.You have been warnedThe entire novel has a dark feel. Atleast read the first two minor arcs

Hey? Why is there a HP Bar and a Title above your head? Why do you know magic? Hey, why are there people slashing their swords at me!? What’s wrong with this world? Why is it so much like an RPG!? HEY!!

Death is sometimes not the end!
Dead prison!
This is a magical prison. It has the ability to draw the souls of the dead people of the world, and it also enables people to gain the ability of the souls of the dead.
When Qin Song woke up, he was shocked to find that he had come to the world of One Piece, and even more surprised that he found a prison in his body…..

- Description from Uukanshu

“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.