Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered! - Chapter 160: Broken Wife**

Faced with a certain death, Kyle has no other choice but to gamble.

He was warned that he could perish in the Arcane Academy but he gritted his teeth and took the risk... and because of his decision, he unveiled many secrets about this mysterious world, discovered many mystical practices, touched upon forbidden relics that will change his life, and gained the enmity of powerful existences.

Thankfully, he didn't transmigrate alone. The Divine Extraction System was with him as he treaded his chosen Arcane Path…

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Lin Lan traveled to the world of Ultraman Zeta, and he also obtained the template of Ultraman Saiga, one of the four mysterious Olympic Games.

Just when he was about to rely on the system to fight the whole universe, he met Sister Zhou who also came through time travel, and the whole battle was live broadcasted to the original world.

Since then, no matter whether it is this world or the original world, people can’t sit still…

Zeta: Senior Saiga is the most powerful Ultra warrior in my heart!

Sailo: I can become Saiga without me! ? Then I go?

Countless netizens: “Fuck, there is a Saiga in the Zeta world!?”

“Saiga Tameow can also use the Cosmic Eudemons Fist!?”

“Wait, what happened to Noah’s hellfire?! And the power of Aurora, the legend of sparks??”

“This Saiga, something is wrong!”

- Description from novelbuddy

I, a HIKKI-NEET, suddenly reincarnated in another world as a prince, and was immediately deemed the weakest ever, with my life already in a pinch after being abandoned as a baby, being stared down by a huge beast!?

However, I could only use one kind of magic. It was close, but I was able to avoid a “dead end” in my first few days of being born using that magic.

Anyways, I just want to live a lazy shut-in life as an adopted noble with my one all-purpose magic, but…?

“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.