Mortal Cultivation - Chapter 20

Since the opening of the Dungeon Rifts-- also called D.Rifts or Drift Dimensions, the world has changed. It's become more militaristic and violent-- unpredictable, even. Monsters raze cities and bring diseases that birth new races. Magic exists in a constant state of hyperflux, birthing new powers and changing the functions of old ones.But none of that mattered for Rex. He wasn't a Drift Soldier-- as much as he wanted to be. He didn't have powers-- even if he wished he did, so when he graduated primary school, he expected to get his Drift Armament and find a bit of consistency for once in his life.But you know what they say about expectations......DING![Congratulations! You have awakened the Beast-Totem and unlocked your Werepanther System.][5 Totems Remaining....]*********Extra tags: kingdom building, military, martial arts, overpowered, scifi-fantasy, post-apocalyptic, factions,

Young Master Lu says, “My wife knows nothing at all and has a bad temper. You’d better not bully her.” Gu Mang watches silently as this man warns everyone who comes his way.

Starting as a fallen noble? Struggling with hunger? Having to pay high taxes to the king? If you don’t pay enough, your head will be chopped off?Romon activates the Lord Simulator and begins with a village...[Your subjects discover a large amount of magic crystal ore while digging on the western side of your territory!][Your territory's culture improves, and your rapid-fire mage develops: Orbital Magic!][You successfully expand your territory and discover an underground labyrinth city on the new land!][You annex the land and gain a new title: Duke of Thune!][The king passes away, war breaks out, and you decide: to annex all lords and establish a new kingdom!]Romon: “Annexing the world is for better simulation, leading the world to ascend efficiently—how can you call it personal ambition?”

“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.