MTL - My Son is a Transmigrated Prince - Chapter 72 0

Hamel, a warrior who traveled with his colleagues to exterminate the devil. Yet, he died just before the battle with the devil started.

“Yes.”

What the hell?

He was reborn as the descendant of his fellow warrior, Vermouth.

The descendant from the bloodline of the great Vermouth, Hamel. No, he was now Eugene Lionhart.

“It was already enough me having the delusion that I was a genius in my past life. But… this… It’s… It’s incomparable.’

From a dying body to a new body, he has the achievement that he did not have in his previous life.

And, a reincarnation of an unknown origin, the reality of living together with the demons.

Facing a new world where everything is questionable.

The journey of the unfinished previous life begins with Eugene’s body.

“Since you rescued Xi’er from endless despair, then absolutely, never leave my side.”

…

“Assassin~ Mister~Sir~, I heard that you have some unspeakable relationship with that Miss Yuexia?”

…

“Is it delicious? Today it’s all made according to your preferences.”

…

This is a story of Meng Xin who wears a warehouse with Bounce to Bounce. This is a crazy world.

Here, Lao Yang has become a younger sister, and Otto has also become a younger sister, and the latter was picked up by the steel bar on the construction site and hit with a sap ugly new…

- Description from novelbuddy

Ashley Gusman, a determined young Filipina, was driven by her sole ambition to provide a better life for her family. She was willing to go to great lengths to achieve this goal, even taking on the role of a surrogate mother for a Billionaire Heir.***~***CEO Tanaga Jones, who needed an heir for his empire, was adamant about not wanting a wife. Ultimately, he contracted with a woman to bear him a child.

“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.