Returning from the Immortal World - Chapter 1258 - Boss?!

Lucien's last memory was skidding tires, blinding headlights, the sickening crunch of metal.But that wasn't the end.He lived his life and died an overworked and underpaid, but he rose as Lucian D’Aureville. Incumbent heir to House Aureville, one of the most powerful houses in the kingdom.However it wasn't as rosy as it seemed.His predecessor had been murdered by someone, and they wouldn't be happy to see Lucien alive.Follow along as Lucien navigates the complex and treacherous path of nobility and wealth as he rises to the top.

Imagination was the eye of the soul, the beginning of creation.

Despite her immense power, the Supreme Goddess of Mysterious Origin had to seal herself after saving the world from the threat of destruction. However, she was sent to another world by the universe's will.

Ely was a girl suffering from partial memory loss. She was known as the shrine priestess of the Sacred Mountain. One day, she received the holy mission to unseal her Goddess Master. She got her priorities straight. However...

The pets she adopted became the Demon Kings, capable of suppressing the world. The tree she planted became the World Tree, forming a bridge between heaven and earth.

The passerby who received enlightenment from her became the Sage who led the entire generation. The disciples she nurtured became bigshots known across the three worlds.

When she looked back... The street painter who pestered her for her handicrafts and paintings turned out to be a God. The young priestess she recruited was actually the number one saintess from the Divine World.

She was known as the holy saintess. Yet, she still referred to herself as a mortal.

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“Could you become my daughter?”

“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.