Best Delinquent Wife’s Order: Rise Again, Hubby - Chapter 915 - : Ending (Final)

At first, when he learned that he was forced to go to many different routine worlds and be reborn into all kinds of cannon fodder, he was against it.

Because villains usually all only have a moment of satisfaction, the endings of cannon fodder are also frequently quite miserable.

But the man who gave him the system told him that this system not only has all types of powerful functions, but he can also break the routine lives of the cannon fodder. If he achieves this satisfactorily for each world, he can even become a god.

He’s already experienced over a thousand reincarnations, but hasn’t yet been a god. Since it sounds pretty great, why not just try it out.

From that moment on, he began the irreversible path of tyrannically oppressing people, while conveniently tearing open those white moonlights and so-called righteous people’s hypocritical masks.

His goal: wearing the villain’s role to walk other people’s righteous paths, leaving them no path to follow.

- Description from novelupdates

“What the fuck? What is going on? Have I completely lost it?”

As I stare panicky at the dot unable to decide what to do, the white dot disappears and a line of text appears in its place.

[Installing files. 1% done…]

As I watch the text in shock, the percentage gradually increases. […2%...3%...4%...]

I move to the living room in a zombie-like manner, too shocked to think clearly and lie down on the couch.

“Something is wrong with me; I think I finally lost my sanity…”

[…12%...13%...14%...]

Unable to affect the situation in the least, I stare dejectedly at the percentage increase, while my mind starts exploring the possible explanations. In the end, as the percentage hits 90%, I narrow it down to three possibilities.

The first possibility is that I am in fact still unconscious and this is all a product of my mind. I pinch myself and whimper at the pain, as in my nervousness I used almost all my strength.

Nope, the first is out.

The second possibility is that I have completely lost my mind and am suffering from delusions. Hmm, I cannot exclude this, but while possible, I don’t think that this is it. The only thing out of the ordinary is that fucking line of text.

The third possibility …

[Installation successful!]

The text disappears and a new message appears in my eyes…

The third possibility … is that I gained a system. I read the message with my mouth agape at the implications.

[Welcome user, to the Perverted Daddy System!]

Fuck…

Traversing to the parallel world where the game concept is still stuck in pk and trade union wars full of krypton gold routines.

Chen Xu obtained the system, so that players can become stronger when they are emotionally excited.

So when Chen Xu came up, he gave players around the world a big one – the immersive VR version of “Battlefield”.

Let players return to World War I and feel the cruelty of the bloody battle of the Somme and the Battle of Verdun…

on the battlefield…

pdd: Ya’er! who I am? where am I? How did I die?

A Yin: Quack doctor! quack doctor! Where’s your needle!

Sun Yifeng, the giant of the fish market: You are a chicken! Don’t fight, it’s allies!

Xiaojie: In war, be serious!

Brother Shu: Is this war? So cruel!

And this is just the beginning.

“Elden’s Ring”, which made players look like a werewolf for Ni, “Call of Duty: Modern Warfare” with 141 to smash Makarov’s conspiracy, “Red Dead Redemption” with Arthur to complete the redemption, and Sergeant Long smashes the Flood and the Covenant’s “Halo”…

Countless classic games were born in the hands of Chen Xu.

- 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.