Surviving the Apocalypse: All I Want Is to Find a Husband - Chapter 88: Humans Trying to Become Gods

The new book “You're in Glory” has been started, the firefighter brother and the wise little sister are waiting for your attraction ~:-DGu Xiaobei has travelled through time. She doesn't have a space-travelling ability, nor a golden finger, only a stubborn and abstinent old cadre!From a cheetah to a loyal dog, from a husband to a daddy.She's not afraid of either covert or overt strategies, and she gets along extraordinarily well with her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law!Returning to the 1980s, in those nostalgic times, she wants to hold onto her perfectly respectable officer husband and live a happy and fulfilling military wife life...

On a normal evening, a voice appeared out of no where to give an announcement all over the world, this same evening was also when Dustin was run over by a car while running way from thugs.

Dustin however woke up unharmed, and learned that the world was about to go into ruins basically, and that some humans would be taken away in a few days as 'earth's warriors'.

As it would turn out, on the D-day, Dustin is one of those that were taken. But, this might turn out to be an opportunity rather than a curse, as some night before this day, something interesting happened.

[System activated]

[Starting assimilation... Complete]

[System online]

[Congratulations player for being the first to awaken. Rewards will be given]

Being raised by witches wasn't the end!It was the beginning for Menma's life as he had to deal with humans that hate the witches.And also travel across different dimensions to fight against unnatural beings that threatened his family.----------------------------------------------------Author here : if you enjoy reading a fresh unique new story, give mine a go.If you like it... perfectif you don't... tell me what i can do to improve itenjoy ;)

“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.