Cyberpunk: Ultimate Cyborg System - Chapter 161: Let Him Feel It.

“Zhong Nuannuan, your charges have been withdrawn. The courts have declared you innocent and pronounced you not guilty for murder. You can leave prison now. Your family is waiting for you in the waiting room outside.” Zhong Nuannuan was startled. She pushed the female prison guard to the side and ran toward the waiting room. She did not even bother to put on her shoes. If not for the icy feeling she felt at every step of the way reminding her that this was not a dream, Zhong Nuannuan would not have believed that she had resurrected.
As she burst through the doors and saw him again, she knew in her heart, that this time she would get it right. This time she would cherish him properly and hopefully, just hopefully, turn her own fate around.

The spring fountain town of miracle that heals anything, Polka. In the hometown of memories, with my dear parents, there was a figure of a half-elf girl who swore to become my female slave.

Repeating such a memorable talk every time he drinks alcohol, 25 years old Andy Smeyson is a former blacksmith’s apprentice and an innocent crossbow soldier. Andy is surrounded by nice companions and competent and sexy bosses, which is different from what he had thought when he was a child, but this was a cozy life. When the half-elf girl suddenly appeared in front of him, he will jump into a furious destiny. Andy, who is weak but courageous​ and clever will meet a lot of different race ladies such as elves, half elves, dark elves, loli dwarves, dragon girls, beast girls and make them his female slaves one after another. The horny adventure started from a half elf girl who doesn’t stop liking him will eventually become a legend ──.

“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.

The world I transmigrated into was a dark fantasy game universe, devoid of hope or dreams.Doesn’t feel like it at all, though.