Second Marriage of a Wealthy Old Man - Chapter 57

She was a peerless genius in the 24th Century – all she needed was a silver needle and she could practically bring anyone back from the dead.

After an explosion, she crossed over into a strange world; everyone calls her “Miss.” The previous “Miss” before had no contractual spirit, was weak and incompetent, and even the fiancé comes over with a new love and bullies her?

Now that she has taken over, who dares to act so presumptuously around her? With needles in hand, the world is for her to own! Wherever she goes, miracles follow! However, she saved a pest. What was she thinking when she saved that man. His stunning demeanor and impeccable face is a huge contrast to his cruel actions. He tries all ways to win her over.

- Description from novelupdates

He rose from abjection and achieved eternity in glory.
He embraced the prettiest beauties and killed the strongest opponents.
He was able to shift the clouds into rain and cover the sky with one hand.
He could overrun the entire world and go anywhere as he pleased.
He pacified wars and held the world in awe.
He was matchless in the world.
However, his hair turned white overnight for his beloved woman and he was on the verge of death.
He was surrounded by enemies who were trying to take his life.
He struggled his way to become mighty and fought for everything he cherished.
For this age, he was the only king of the Dark World.
His name was a byword for might.
As a man living in the world, his only ideal was to pursue brilliance.

- Description from Novelupdates

Life Demon, Law Demon, Knowledge Demon, Fate Demon, War Demon…

When various strange forces invaded, the world has since been divided into two distinct ends.

Some people worship him as a god and walk on the earth as a spokesperson.

Some people choose to drink a glass of strong wine on the scarlet night and raise the shotgun in their hands.

- Description from novelbuddy

“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.