MTL - Nine Cents Refining - v3 Chapter 2613 Wrath of Medicine God (2)

When the admissions office of Witch Academy called, I was stunned—I had been accepted into a school I never imagined I could touch.Yes, I am a boy and it is an all-girls’ academy, but they did not mind, so I saw no reason to object. I had applied secretly, without telling my family, just to take a chance.But as soon as those striking seniors greeted us newcomers—pressing every boy against the wall with a knowing smile—I realized things were about to spin out of control.“Oh, come now, you sweet little freshman,” one of them said smoothly, her voice full of mischief. “Don’t make this difficult for me, your big sis. Swallow this core and transform into a witch like me, alright?”She held the glowing orb before us, half-threatening, half-teasing, almost inviting the new boys to react. It was clear she enjoyed it—the blend of fear and resistance in their expressions. Our unease seemed to be her personal amusement.After all, they only had this opportunity once a year.

Greed, envy, anger, gluttony, lust, sloth, prideThe 'Black Book' records seven sources of sin, which are also seven steps to ascend to godhoodOnce, I thought there would always be one sin suitable for meBut I never expectedEvery volume of the twelve military letters bears my name!

Thiago has nothing—no money, no connections, not even shoes.Just raw talent, a dream, and a strange System only he can see.From the streets of Rio to the world stage, this is the story of a boy who plays to survive—and fights to rise.

“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.