MTL - Liu Yao: The Revitalization of Fuyao Sect - Chapter 68

[All my novels contains mature themes this one included!! R18 Ahead. I'm damn good in it SO BEWARE!!!]Roger thought he’d seen enough horror and slaughter. But nothing prepared him for the day his mentor—an elite swordsman was ripped in half by something not even the gods should have created.Terrified, alone, and soaked in cold sweat, Roger fled deeper into a jungle that had swallowed countless heroes before him. But what awaited him wasn’t death. It was something far worse.A succubus.The succubus who drained him to his bones.He thought he would never woke up, but he found himself not dead, but reborn... in a temple carved from white stone, beneath the towering gaze of a statue unlike any god he had ever seen or heard.Then came the voice—deep, commanding, and ancient.“I am the God of Chaos. The ruler of the new world. The supreme—Hades.”With those words, Roger’s world unraveled.He was shown visions of a forgotten truth: the Ragnarok of the Gods was never an end, but a transformation. The six most powerful gods—righteous and evil—had not died, but merged. Their remnants gave birth to a being that defied all divine logic, a god born from contradictions: justice and malice, order and desire, light and destruction.Hades.Now, with a wicked grin stretching across the fabric of fate, the God of Chaos has made Roger an offer no sane man should accept... but no ambitious fool can resist.“So you want me to be your messenger? But what can I gain from it?” Roger asked with an expectant look.“Become my messenger I shall grant you the power to stand above all life—save for me.”But Roger is no noble hero. He’s a rogue, a pervert, a coward who cries when death knocks at the door. Yet he's also cunning, curious—and fatally tempted by power and the chance to live without ever bowing again.Now Roger a selfish bastard with a broken sword, a sharp tongue, and the spine to spit in a god’s eye must choose what kind of man he will become: pawn, parasite… or prophet of chaos.Now it looks like one bastard adventurer might just rewrite the fate of Nirn.

I, a HIKKI-NEET, suddenly reincarnated in another world as a prince, and was immediately deemed the weakest ever, with my life already in a pinch after being abandoned as a baby, being stared down by a huge beast!?

However, I could only use one kind of magic. It was close, but I was able to avoid a “dead end” in my first few days of being born using that magic.

Anyways, I just want to live a lazy shut-in life as an adopted noble with my one all-purpose magic, but…?

After transmigrating into a beast world, Rong Mingshi discovered that the people of this world experienced widespread mania. For example, when their emotions were abnormally agitated, they would become destructive beasts. If their emotions were abnormally low, they would shrink into their young beast form.

“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.