MTL - I Have Seven Big Brothers - Chapter 16 I want to send my brother to school

Way, way, and very way before I was even born, my world was invaded. Actually, not just my world, my entire damn universe was overrun by another, led by a single race that called themselves the Eternals.And they were prepared. Very prepared. Every life we lost in the war against them was used by them. They didn’t just kill people, they captured their souls, forged them into Phantoms, and used the souls to twist beasts into Abominations. Our dead became their army.Three hundred years later, I was born. A guy with way too much energy. Sitting still? Impossible. Taking it slow? Not happening. I was always moving, always ready to burst into action. Then I awakened, and got a talent too.My Talent's Name Was Generator.Because of it I never ran out of energy. Ever. My muscles? Supercharged. My healing? Faster. My stamina? Please, I had no idea what being tired even felt like.So if the universe wanted to throw an endless war at me?Fine. I’d throw everything I had right back.I wasn’t born a hero. Never wanted to be one. But this war? It wasn’t just my universe’s fight anymore. It was mine. The Eternals made sure of that when they took my parents' souls.

I don’t want to die. I want to be free. To that end, I shall….reconcile myself to the fate of becoming a “monster”.

A strange disease that racks one’s entire body with intense never-ending pain, until the person slowly withers away and eventually dies. After a few years of braving through the pain, the boy is in no luxury to even feel despair. With nary a soul to tend to him, he breathes his last.

The next time he opened his eyes, the boy had become an “Undead” of the lowest rank through the power of an evil Necromancer.

The boy rejoices at having his earnest desire fulfilled, which is a body that will never feel pain. However, he realizes that he is still under someone’s control and how it was no different from when he was cooped up in the hospital ward.

But the world would not leave alone the boy who only wished for peace.

The Necromancer who revives the boy from the dead, names him “End” and attempts to gain control over him.

The Undead Knights, lay their lives on the line to persistently chase after and annihilate the beings of the darkness.

With countless monsters under their command, the Demon Lords rule over their own lands while they all contend for ultimate supremacy.

The motivation being survival and freedom. The requirements being caution and power.

This is the tale of the cowardly King of the Undead. In his pursuit for freedom, he heads into battle and turns tail at times. He knows when to fear his opponents and when to waver in his decisions.

“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.