The Regressors are Trying to Kill Me - Chapter 17

Born and raised in a lab Tristan must figure out how to live and survive in the outside world. To make matters worse he has 4 others to look after. He's the oldest but is always being taken care of, to make sure his lab siblings want for nothing, Tristan will need to make a difficult decision. The goal is to provide for his siblings but he ends up living just like he was groomed to live. On top of everything else, there are four alphas who want to mate with him, and they don't mind sharing. Will Tristan accept his fate? Or will he runaway?

Everyone said that Yi Qing was the number one Sword Cultivator in the world, with a swordsmanship and cultivation that no one could surpass. Whether it was when he was cultivating in the Lower Realm, or when he was in the Ten Heavens of the Upper Realm, he has always been undefeated.

Second Awakening? A System? Having lost the battle of the Dark Catastrophe to the demons—spawns of the Dark Gods— humanity is given a chance at making things right once again. Born as a twin into a family of high ranking talent awakeners, Damien Terrace is met with trouble when it is his turn to perform the ritual. After awakening the E-Rank Summoner talent, Damien loses everything to his twin. Exiled by his father to perish away from them, Damien goes through a second awakening that changes the play field for him. Ding! [The God of Summons is furious and has blessed you with a system!] [You have fused with the Mythics Summoning System—A system that only allows you to summon mythical beasts!] [Obtain nineteen Magic Essence Cores to boost your core to the next level!] [Slay 200 more demons to unlock another summon!] Damien’s only option is to evolve!

“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.