MTL - I Married the Second Male Lead After Reincarnating - Chapter 373 She pressed on every step, and he couldn't retreat

I, Zhou Mingrui, transmigrated to an alternate world and became an ordinary little skeleton.

I received a system at the start which made me more powerful whenever I killed an enemy.

I can draw the health, mana, and other stats from the dead.

Every 10 levels, I can also awaken a talent.

Level 10: The Book of the Dead.

All incantation time for Undead Spells is shortened by half, and their effects are increased twofold.

Level 20: Skeleton Armor.

Build weapons and armor that are suitable for the user using skeletons. Weapons can be upgraded when the user’s level increases, while the armor can be upgraded to increase its immunity against all negative effects.

Level 30: Soul Summoning From River Lethe.

The user can summon dark creatures. The maximum number of summons increase with the user’s level. The summoned creatures’ stats are increased significantly.

…

I, Yan Wuyue, leader of the human. I am crowned the [Goddess of Savior] by the people of this world.

I reincarnated 30 years before the apocalypse. I have to get stronger in order to change history and save humanity.

So, my initial summon monster is extremely important.

I thought I could sign a contract with a dragon, a phoenix, an angel, or some other creature from the ancient myths.

But when that ordinary, unassuming little skeleton fell from the sky…

I was plunged into despair.

Even the most ordinary sorcerer could summon a ton of these things with a wave of his hand!

This is a ‘rebirth’ story where Chen Rong, the heroine, finds her second chance at life after burning herself to death. Set in the Eastern Jin era when bureaucrats and their lofty yet equally hypocritical and oppressive ideas once ruled the empire, Chen Rong is made to use her past life’s experience to survive and hopefully find happiness this time around.

- Description from Novelupdates

Being the author of the breakout novel, Gates of The Primordials, Jarren Fletcher did not care about the constant critiques claiming he had a habit of treating extra characters as mere plot devices, creating and then dumping them once they’d served their purpose.To Jarren, it didn’t matter. Extras were just that—extras. All that mattered was the main character.But Jarren never expected to wake up in his own story, reincarnated as one of the meaningless, disposable extra characters, Deremiah Morcant—a coward who took his own life to escape the perilous challenges of the Gate Trials.Now, Jarren has to face those deadly challenges himself in the body of a weak, insignificant extra. He must find a way to survive in the rules of the dangerous world he had created, whilst also trying to save it.But time is running out. The next Wave is coming, and so are the paragons.

“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.