MTL - The Anarchic Consort - Chapter 1372 The first thousand two hundred and seventy-five of His Royal Highness restores the body of the demon

Target Audience: This book is for those who had enough of MCs getting bullied and those who enjoyed progression. I’ll now apologize if I miss something and MC didn’t act according to your likings, I’ll adjust and improve so let’s get addicted to it! SSS rank talent? I can get 10,000 xp multiplier and convert them to upgrade my skills? Proficiency? Item Quality? Top ranker? Beat them up! Arrogant villains? Slap them to death! My Little Sister getting bullied in school? Destroy the school! In my eyes, you are just experience points to farm! Let’s farm experience points!

Falling in love with my imposter sister's fiance wasn't the plan. After finding out that she was exchanged at birth and was the real daughter of the Moore family, Eliana was expecting a turn in her life, but nothing changed except that she lived in a big house and could now eat good food. Her parents still ignored her and everything good was first given to Amber, their imposter daughter.She was twelve when she met him, when he saved her from drowning, and when she found out that he already had a betrothed. It was already known that the eldest son of the Sanders family was betrothed to the eldest daughter of the Moore family since birth. She knew this, and it was only natural that she accepted this, but the more they crossed paths, the more she wanted him and the more she wanted more for herself. Eliana was ready to do anything to achieve all her dark desires, even if it made her a villain.After all, there is a saying that goes “Villians are not born, they are made.”

An unknown disciple from a small sect battling against the strongest in the cultivation world! The long journey working at cultivation, the realization of destiny and the chance to reach the apex of the world.

“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.