Mythical Monster Evolution - Chapter 55: Third Stage

After losing his life in... an unfortunate incident, Ezra is rejected from the summoning by the First Light. He is instead banished from existence. There he meets a being, that claims to have been dreaming since before existence.He agrees to serve this Eldritch entity if he can let him live again. Ezra's soul is then stuck into the body of a young priest, Priest Izikel Vau-Leotard.In this new world, where gods exist and they bless their believers with Divine energy to perform miracles, Izikel is forced to navigate his new life, while serving a Chaos god.In his new life, Izikel vow to live the life of a hero, but what can he do when it seems like Fate itself scoffed at his words.This is Izikel's reality, one he barely has a grasp of, but one he is definitely going to conquer at all cost.CONTENT WARNING:This novel contains themes of suicide, cannibalism, and extreme brutality, along with other dark and potentially distressing topics. Reader discretion is advised..

Humans, once the masters of Earth, were losing their place to the inexplicable phenomena known as Objects.And this is a story about becoming an Object and living worry-free in the Seoul of such a world.

Upon waking up from the dream, Josie traveled from the 21st century to Chicago in 1943, becoming a poor boy wandering the streets.

World War II? For Josie, who is still underage, it is too far away.

As an orphan, how he can survive in this age is the most important thing.

Fortunately, he has a plane trading system. In this era, being a master of time and space can make a good life if you think about it.

However, a few months later, Josie, whose life had just improved a little, looked at Captain America, who was singing and dancing with a group of girls on the stage of the war fundraising benefit performance, and fell silent.

It’s over, Barbie Q is over.

This is Marvel!

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.