Online Game: Starting with an SSS-Level Plundering Talent - Chapter 7 - : Killing Dino, Plundering Talent

After being confined in a mental asylum for years, Jin Jiuchi had just been released back to human habitation when he suddenly found himself trapped in a dangerous and thrilling survival game.

Wait, is there something wrong with you all? Why do you look so scared? This world is so… exciting!

For Jin Jiuchi, this beast in human clothing who was chained by society laws, the appearance of the Nightmare Cycle was akin to a dream come true!

Drinking tea with a dismembered bride in a haunted apartment, dancing tango with the evil spirit in the depths of suicide forest, skipping rope with the ancient god in a forgotten civilization…

Jin Jiuchi was so happy that he was going crazy! However, when he went crazy, all the players and NPCs in the cycle trembled in fear.

***

There was only a beautiful jade doll who had never been afraid of him.

Shen Nianzu called out softly, “Jin-ge.”

Jin Jiuchi, who was happily digging through a rotten corpse's stomach, suddenly dropped everything and zoomed in front of Shen Nianzu with a speed invisible to naked eyes. His eyes were curved into crescents as he asked, “What's wrong, Nian'er? Do you want to join me too?”

Shen Nianzu was expressionless as he stared at the bloody man in front of him. Then he suddenly stretched out a hand, palm up. Confused, Jin Jiuchi placed his dirty paw in Shen Nianzu's hand and shook it.

Shen Nianzu: “Good boy.”

Jin Jiuchi: ?

……………………………………………………………

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Gu Nianshen had thought all along that he was raped by an older lady five years ago when he got really drunk at a nightclub. When he met a child who resembled him and Lin Yiqian, he carried the child in his arms.

“He is the entertainment king who is in charge of everything. Been single for years, he had zero scandal. One day, a woman and a girl turned his life upside down.

“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.