MTL - Demon King/The Parting of the Orchid and Cang - Chapter 4 Start reading

In the eyes of many people, Hefpaff College represents a mediocre idiot, while Slytherin is famous for its shrewdness, ambition, and sleekness.

When Hefpaff stayed with Slytherin, it was like a badger and a snake in the same room, and it seemed that badgers would always be bullied by snakes.

Compared with the dazzling other three hospitals, Hefpaff is mediocre, so many people forget Hefpaff’s academic spirit: integrity, loyalty, honesty, and fear of hardship. People who possess these qualities may not be in harmony with each other. Tom Riddle was equally famous, but their souls were stronger than him.

Professor Pomona Sprout from the valley is known for being good at the curse of food, and the gloomy and greasy Slytherin chief from the cellar often handles disgusting magic materials such as slugs. They don’t seem to have Any communication and scandal arise, but here is Hogwarts, what can’t happen even if there is magic?

Female lead text.

- Description from novelbuddy

Question, there is a beauty under the starry sky, her black hair looks like eternal night, her bright eyes shine like stars, her powerful magic power makes the world tremble, and her peerless beauty makes all living beings surrender, who is this beauty?

“That’s right, it’s me, the Witch King, Dorothy”

ps: The real name is “Otaku Witch”, a slow-fire setting text, too watery to enter! Don’t like water! Don’t like water!

- Description from novelbuddy

After making a deal with a peculiar goddess, Victor awakens in a new world of swords & magic with a body of pure darkness and far too many eyes.

He had become a Netherborne—the strongest undead race in all of existence.

But what happens when a human mind inhabits such a creature? With dulled emotions and an insatiable hunger?

Does only death and destruction await the world? Or will Victor be the herald of a new undead civilization?

“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.