MTL - The Defeated Dragon - Chapter 1067 Dial the wire

Kaidan (Kaidan refers to eerie tales of strange, mysterious, rare, or bewitching ghosts and monsters from Japanese folklore.) feed on cognition, wield information as weapons, and use information as currency, existing between the peculiarities of neither life nor death.They exist in human rumors and dwell in the shadows of the world.“Does this mean I will become a Kaidan?”In ancient times, they were worshipped as deities, empowered by faith.“Then I am a deity!”In more recent ancient times, they were regarded as demons and fed on fear.“I will become the master of Kaidan!”However, as the tides of time washed over, they gradually vanished, leaving behind only texts considered to be delusions.“To restore the glory of Kaidan is an undeniable duty of ours.”But you are not yet a Kaidan, hmm, nor a person.“Well, becoming a Kaidan counts as success.”

Gabe King starts college desperate to change—to make friends, find love, and finally bury the twisted obsession he’s secretly held for his mother. But one drunken night at a party shatters everything. Inexperienced and overwhelmed, he accidentally cums inside a hooker… only to realize it’s his Mom, Angela.She doesn’t recoil. She smiles.For Angela, this is permission. The moment she’s waited for. Her yandere love for Gabe, once hidden beneath motherly concern, is now unleashed. And she’ll do anything to keep him, sabotaging his friendships, crashing his classes, and reminding him that no one will ever love him like she does.More Plot than Porn.[Some NTR, but not from the mom]

She was the Eldest Legitimate Daughter of the General's Mansion, treacherously harmed and died a miserable death. Perhaps moved by pity, heaven granted her rebirth. She returned to four years earlier, not only possessing heterochromia that allowed her to see what others couldn't but also equipped with a portable space. She vowed to make those who hurt her and her mother pay in this life.He was a Prince with a Different Surname from Moli Country, holding military power and commanding awe in all directions. It was said that he had conquered most of Moli Country, and even The Emperor showed him deference. Legend had it he was a bloodthirsty prince who killed without blinking an eye.One day, she encountered a ragged but handsome man on the street, who chased after her, shouting, “My wife, my wife.”The woman said, “Damn it, who is your wife? Aunt isn’t even engaged yet! Go where it’s cool and stay there.”The man responded, “You are my wife, and I've decided to follow you for life.”“A feel-good story, both leads are strong, a pampering love story with 1v1 romance.”

“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.