MTL - Douluo: Start Invincible From Capturing the Goddess - Chapter 1180 Meeting the beauty again, Ning Rongrong acted coquettishly as a "rogue"

Joseph Knox, one of the most prolific and well-known serial killers on the planet.A person considered so demented and manic that even trying to reason with him was believed to be a waste of time. A man so far gone that he seemingly didn't deserve any pity even on his deathbed.So why? Why would a man like him receive a second chance? And why did the world around him seem so familiar?Disclaimer: AU when it comes to some parts of Madara's plan(I'll try to make it make sense at least), and aliens don't exist in this world

“Elysia, why are you always subtly asking about how Michael's doing?”“Oh? Do I? Maybe it's because he was the only Herrscher in our era who fought for humanity! He was both the First Herrscher and a human named Michael. Yes! That's definitely it!” Facing Mei's question, Ellie just offered a faint smile.“What about Mobius?”“Tch!” The green-haired little girl snorted dismissively, turning her head away.“Who else?” Mei covered her face.“Pardo?”“W-w-what! Kalpas is clearly very concerned about Boss Michael too!”“Get lost!”“Kevin?”“It's not entirely what you think. He has a much more important meaning to us—a family member we promised to walk towards the future with.”-----True Love Warrior Protagonist, Not very Mental stable Protagonist, Pessimistic Protagonist, Anti-Hero Protagonist, Crybaby Protagonist, Michael x Elysia. Oh, Michael... Don't come here; I'm just writing nonsense.

The eternal night is coming, and the killing ground descends.Gods fall, and a hundred ghosts parade at night.You can stand in the forefront and announce the arrival of the era's tide to the world, or you can hide in the darkness and coldly observe the struggle of others to survive.Liberate your thoughts, embrace your destiny, this is the absolute real game, this is, Earth's Killing Field.

“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.