Carnal Immortal - Chapter 293: Eat Her

«Abbot Xinzi, by decree of the Celestial Grandmaster, hunt down the protagonists, snatch their women and destroy their destiny!»

In a world where demons walk among men and mystical beasts run amok, Xinzi, outer disciple of the White Immortal sect, must compete against his peerless senior brother to become the Sword Fairy’s dual cultivation partner. Failure isn’t an option.

But when the truth of his mysterious past resurfaces, and his identity clashes with the succeeding protagonists, will our monk hold on to the last embers of his humanity or sink…into utter depravity?

Follow Xinzi as he subdues the succeeding protagonists, corrupts their beauties, and bestows green hats on the path to attain Sainthood and establish a Paradise of Faith in Debauchery.

A new fantasy world built by Fang Xiang, please enter!

- Description from novelbuddy

There is a very strange restaurant in the City of Sin.

Elves and dwarves must share a table, orcs are strangely well behaved, dragons are only welcomed on the small square in front of the restaurant, and the demons must bring their own stool.

This strange restaurant with their strange rules continuous to attract a long line of customers.

“This place serves the best food! The chef of this restaurant is a genius!” Some of the guests in the restaurant left glowing reviews. But these guests have a word of warning for other guests, “No matter what you do, never, never attempt to kidnap the boss or try to ‘eat and run’. You will die.”

A cute little girl stood near the door, and demanded in her tiny voice, “You have eaten the food, now pay up, or I will beat you to death.” The five-meter tall dragon suddenly felt a chill running up its spine.

“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.