A Core Ship From The Start - Chapter 1252 - 846: Night Assassination_2

Karl transmigrated into a new world, and once he reached the age of 18, the day of the profession awakening ceremony came.In this world, your strength and profession determined everything about your life, with no second chances.And with nobody to support him, it was make or break for Karl.Yet, once his turn arrived, and he closed his eyes...He woke up in a strange and unfamiliar place.[Welcome to the Spirit Cemetery]A skeletal figure appeared before his eyes: it was death, revealing itself to him.“What the...”But before he could even understand the situation he was in, he heard a notification.Ding![You have awakened the EX-Rank profession “Spirit Summoner”][This is your Spirit Cemetery, find a way to fill it.]

He doesn’t want to be wanted for bounty, or be a pirate, but if there’s no other choice, he can only become a pirate…..

She was an unprecedented assassin, a trump card deadly agent, but transmigrated through into Ye City’s number one prodigious good-for-nothing young miss. I am an ugly woman? I will break out from my cocoon into a gorgeous butterfly that will blind your snobbish eyes! I am useless piece of heap? Lightning in my hands, I will smite you to a well-cooked crisp!Her greed and lust for money had no end. She is lewd to the core with no bottom in sight, sworn to have love fortunes blossom all around her. However, a certain someone holding a blade in the left hand and a sword in the right hand began cutting those love fortunes one by one! The person smiled with perked brows, “Little Ninth, it looks like I have to let you become occupied!”

“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.