MTL - Sailing: Stealing Sauron’s Talents at the Beginning - Chapter 183

After playing a variation of the poker game, Shadow’s Hand, Damien Pearce unexpectedly awakened in an unfamiliar world.Stripped of all kinds of information in the world he was thrown into, Damien now had to navigate it through wits and guts.Amidst his search for information, he discovered that he seemed to be a part of the world as a Transcendent Investigator, otherwise known as TI.The TI seemed fearful and revered among the people in this world. They were responsible for catching Transcendent(s) who misused their power.But was that the reason for his transfer?“Do I or do I not belong in this world?” Damien questioned his presence constantly.

Mikail Fremawan, someone who has always been followed by bad luck since he was a child, and the peak was when both of his parents died simultaneously before his own eyes.But the sudden appearance of the System changes everything, from wealth, power, glory, and... revenge; Mikail begins his steps to achieve all of that one by one.Witness his story of turning his misfortune into incredible good fortune.Mikail: There might be something wrong with my System, Isn't it?

“I'm sorry, Kiara,” he began, his voice heavy with regret. “We regret to inform you that we can no longer administer these drugs to you.”I was dying. I was going to die.Kiara Williams was dying from Stomach Cancer. With only a few months to live, she could only stay at the hospital.Alone. Her annoying husband did not come and visit her, only her best friend, Jessica remained by her side. She could no longer pay the bills and was sent home.Arriving at her house she caught Jessica and her husband together in bed. In a fight, her husband pushed Kiara down the stairs.Kiara died.Or did she? She was reborn ten years back, but rather than being destroyed, she begged a strange man for a one night stand unless she may die again.

“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.