MTL - Every World Seems Not Quite Right (Quick Transmigration) - Chapter 99 Warlord hegemony text 9 (2)

Nova scrambled backwards, panting hard, her short locks clinging to her damp forehead as she watched this predator stalk towards her. The vibrant and lively forest hushed, almost holding its breath to watch the scene unfold. Great, she had an audience for what would surely be a gruesome death.Death looked... a little... rugged and in nothing but a loin cloth, defined by slabs of muscle, a trail of hair leading down to such a small piece of cloth to hide a large-A spine-chilling growl snapped her gaze back up to meet his golden-red eyes, fiery, and intense, glaring at Nova as he slammed his hands either side of her head. Pieces of bark crumbled down from the impact.“I told you not to run...” He threatened, his eyes piercing hers, his voice more guttural than she'd heard from any male. His eyes clenched shut as his body trembled. “My instinct is to always stalk, always chase... until I get what I want..”Their faces were inches apart. She could feel his hot breath fanning her face. The forest was humid and hot, and his body was so close to hers that it was almost unbearable. The gruff voice, those words and the intensity of those eyes that reminded her of sunsets caused goosebumps to flourish across her arms.“What do you want?” Nova swallowed, not recognising her voice. She was so out of her depth. His chest rumbled, and more bark crumbled down from behind her head.“You...”Her breath hitched.“To. Do. As. You're. Told.”Paradise was what Nova Winslow was promised when her boyfriend whisked her away to Isla De Tayun, the perfect getaway for their busy lives. It was untouched, pristine, a hidden gem.But it had remained that way for a reason. The island doesn’t want visitors. And neither do the natives.What should have been a romantic retreat, drinking from coconuts and lounging on white-sandy beaches together, turns into a holiday from hell.Mid-argument with her soon-to-be ex, Nova stumbles into a lake. When she resurfaces, her boyfriend, the path she came from, and the resort have vanished.Alone, stranded, and with little survival skills, Nova has only a wet phone with no signal, a pair of heels, and an irrational fear of bats—which are everywhere. She is out of her depth when she falls into a mystical world of beasts.Hunted by tribesmen, stalked by beasts that shouldn't exist, and hearing animals speak, she has no choice but to trust the wild beast the forest itself fears—Yoa, a wanted man. Together, they flee the tribes pursuing them all while battling her growing attraction to Yoa.Can she survive the wild and make it back to her civilised life? Or will she lose herself to the untamed world—and to the man who belongs to it?

Through a mysterious portal, Chen Jin arrived at this strange place – a post-apocalyptic world where civilization had been destroyed.

Consequently, he found –

A piece of metal scrap
A robot trash collector
A battleground
A city
A ton and more of gold
A copy of high-tech documents
A…
In short, Chen Jin found a planet.

- Description from Novelupdates

In a world of shallow-minded, materialistic mortals, what would one from humble beginnings – whose face had been stomped on, spat on, oppressed for the longest while by the arrogant, pampered upper echelons of society – do, when a mysterious application pops up on a brand new phone that was meant to be the birthday gift of an ungrateful girlfriend? What if the application takes the form of a chatroom where its occupants, bearing the names of mythical, fictional beings, start giving out ‘Red Packets’, all the while spouting nonsense?

“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.