Die. Respawn. Repeat. - Chapter 135: Book 2: The Shape of a Soul

Being able to see into people's past has no real appeal for the teenager this story is about, letting him use it only as amusement and to show off when he was drunk.Never watch into someone's past beyond a superficial level.Never try to find out more than you should.NEVER. EVER. LOOK. INTO. THE. FUTURE.But everything changed the moment he was forced to look into the future, was forced to investigate a murder, and was forced to make the acquaintance of the victim's twin brother('s fists).The more time passed, the more it appeared that the primary reason for this murder wasn't a local problem, but a global one.This single, marred corpse was the beginning of a threat that would shake the world.(MC looses a screw when he enters the prison)BL, first-person view; MC is shuo (perhaps even a reversible couple); love interest falls in love first; both MC and ML are straight, mutual bending, Enemies to Lovers

[Mature Content]Khalifa Fei, a famed water mage, suddenly woke up into a stupidly enjoyable book about the undead.Although she transmigrated into a cannon fodder who didn't even have a name in the book... she really didn't mind.After all, how could she possibly miss watching the book she liked in the flesh??What she didn't expect was that there would be so many... distractions along the way.Would she even be able to prepare properly with all these men pulling her to bed?

She, the “godly doctor” of an assassin organization in 21st century, transmigrated into the body of Yun Family’s abandoned, good-for-nothing Ninth Miss. Good-for-nothing? Then she’ll let the world see what a real good-for-nothing looks like. Summoners are legendary? Nothing is impossible in this world! She’ll become the first Magical Summoner.

“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.