The God Virus - Chapter 440: Moth to a Flame

Each stroke of good luck is a triumph over someone else’s misfortune.Jack Grim, the son of two legendary assassins, was born and raised on nothing but coldness — and the skills to spill blood.At seventeen, Jack received his final task as an assassin apprentice under his parents.“Succeed, and you’ll run your own organization — live the life you’ve always dreamed of.”For Jack, it was everything he had ever wanted: the chance to finally become the professional assassin he was born to be.He struck his target at midnight, succeeded, and received everything his parents had promised.But in the wake of victory came a pounding headache, a relentless fever—and then… transmigration.Jack now found himself in Raiden’s body — the keeper of the Book of Ashes, the heart of the Devourer, and the very book the coward Raiden had died protecting with his life.Jack had no desire to live in another world, magic or not. He simply wanted to return to his life as an assassin.But duty had other plans. The balance of this world now rested on his ability to protect the book — and like it or not, the responsibility was his to bear.

“I don't have enough money or power right now, but I will definitely find a way to bring them all to their knees! I'll make them all beg!” She hissed, shaking with anger and frustration. “I will do everything, anything… to make them all regret… even if I have to sell my soul to the devil!” She said with determination flashing in her beautiful eyes.

The man smirked. He lifted his fingers and tucked some errant strands of her slightly mussed up hair behind her ear. “Be careful what you wish for, Miss. A certain devil here might really fulfil your wish and claim your soul in exchange.”

“If that devil is really here, do introduce him to me, handsome. I would like to make a deal with him.” Eva drawled out, smirking back at him.

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“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.

A story about a traveler who crossed into a parallel universe, relying on his Proficiency ability to continuously grind experience and become stronger.