The Kind of Evil - Chapter 322: Truth bearer.

Ning Su’s hair is soft, his skin is pale, his expression is slightly sluggish, his body is thin, and he is out of place in the crowd of passers-by.

He listened to the people around him discussing how to clear the level of this dungeon, and asked: “I survived the level, does it count as clearing the level?”

The people around looked at him like a fool: What a pity.

After entering the dungeon, Ning Su really started to live a life of his own.

If there is a gloomy skull on the castle, Ning Su will pick it up and make it into a night light to sleep beautifully.

The waterfall turned into blood, and he took the stew in a small milk pot, his eyes shining brightly.

Occasionally, he will also make small clothes for ghosts crawling on the ground.

Later, he really survived, the NPCs are sticky to him, the ghost master followed him and called him ‘mother’, and he still had the bloody heart of the flower god in his chest.

“…”

For Ning Su, there is food and drink in the infinite horror world, which is much more wonderful than his previous life.

He lived in the doomsday era and used to be a supernatural being, but his supernatural power is different. He is a special dark supernatural being who can absorb all dark things.

The person in charge of the base asked him to purify the zombies and sent him to the zombie group.

He turned into a little dark zombie.

Humans did not like him, all dark beings loved him.

- Description from Novelupdates

She was the heiress of the influential military and political Shen family. She possessed an exceptional face and a cool demeanor. Although she was the apple of her family's eye, she was disliked by her birth mother.He was the only heir to the immensely wealthy and powerful Fu family. Powerful, arrogant, and cold, he was the captain of a stealth corps and the youngest commander.To fulfill her grandmother's final wish, they got married in a flash. Initially, she regarded the marriage as a mere contract, but she did not expect to elicit his utmost admiration.

In order to protect my two sisters-in-law, I was possessed by a Fox Demon. Since then, I've found that the way all women look at me has changed...

“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.