Mysterious Revival - Chapter 350 - 349: The Person in the Fog

A cheating boyfriend and a traitorous best friend had always been a cliché start to a story. Fil often thought those things only happened in such narratives. Who would have thought this same cliché twist would happen to her?Fil was a devout Christian who held marriage and marital fidelity sacred. She had been a very good girl from childhood to adulthood. But when she caught her childhood sweetheart slash fiancé and her best friend rolling under the sheets, Fil wanted to rebel for the first time.The first step of her rebellious journey? Getting drunk.After drowning her sorrows with the help of alcohol, Fil met the enigmatic Jackson. The moment her eyes met those tantalizing golden orbs, words slipped past her lips without any notion of the kind of situation she was getting herself into:“Will I go to hell if I lose my virginity before marriage?”His thin, red lips curled up as a glint flickered across his naturally sharp eyes, and he said, “Who knows? But I can bring heaven to you if you want me to.”*****Jackson.A man shrouded in mystery and secrets, licentious to the core with zero morality, someone who had grown bored playing games with life. Until one fateful night, a woman suddenly appeared before him — a perfect prey for a boring night.Little did he know, a night with a rebellious wannabee wouldn’t be enough to quench his biological urge. Nor would he ever fathom the colors she gave to his gray-colored world.A good girl with dirty thoughts and a sinful man who had even dirtier thoughts.A relationship that started for revenge and to satisfy one’s need; was there even space for true love?How? When the man bending her down would nastily whisper in her ear, “You've been a fucking good girl.”****As the two grapple with their own demons threatening to tear them apart, doubts would start surfacing in their hearts. Was this rebellion worth sacrificing her principles for? Could she truly find happiness in the arms of a man so steeped in darkness?And for Jackson, was redemption possible for a devil like him? And if so, would she be the one to lead him towards the light? Would she even accept his darkest secrets and the hell of his world?In a world where trust was a rare commodity and love was a fragile flame, Fil and Jackson would have to navigate the treacherous waters of desire and redemption.Would they face the unknown together? Or would they let go to save themselves from the impending pain of being together?

The entire globe has transmigrated overnight!

Ruins stretched across the landscape in the apocalypse after the nuclear war.

“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.