Apocalyptic Era: Starting from picking up a Bishoujo - Chapter 35 - 34 approaching the end4

Lucius was a man born to a pair of lowly servants that worked for the Great Demon worshiping Barrom clan. Growing up in the harsh conditions of the Barrom clan where magic and power reigned supreme, he weathered though humiliation and schemes. Knowing that he wanted to be the oppressor than the oppressed, he began his conquest. Not averse to betraying or scheming, Lucius made use of his allies as mere pawns to be sacrificed.

Learning that a powerful artifact lost eons ago was hidden in an ancient ruin, Lucius betrayed and sacrificed one of his closest people, his lover without hesitation.

But he didn’t know that fate had a different plan for him and the artifact he had yearned for would send his soul hurtling across the cosmos, forcing it into the broken body of a young man called Asher Inanis. Coming to his senses he finds the world to be completely different where the magic of his previous world did not exist, but what did was ‘Gifts’.

Witness how he learns about the world, gains power and reigns supreme against all odds becoming the Demonic Sage.

He was supposed to be the next big thing.Three years ago, Riku Aoyama was Japan’s rising basketball prodigy…Until a devastating injury and a brutal betrayal shattered everything.Now? He’s just a ghost of his former self—until one empty gym, one dusty court, and one crazy idea reignite the fire.Form a team of nobodies. Start from zero. Take on the monsters ruling the court.With broken players, forgotten schools, and no sponsors backing them—Riku’s team, Kaizen High, isn’t just here to play...They’re here to change the game.No powers. No shortcuts.Just sweat, soul, and skill.In a world where basketball is war—Only the crownless will rise.

“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.

In a world where strength reigns supreme and only the strong are revered, conflict and injuries are commonplace.