Elixir Supplier - Chapter 939: Almost Dead

There are a lot of things wrong with Liv Brodbeck. She’s too small, for one thing. When she works in the castle kitchens with her mother, she can’t carry a sack of flour or roll a keg of ale. Baron Summerset’s chirurgeon says that she has brittle bones, so she isn’t allowed to wrestle or sword fight with the other children. Even sledding downhill in the winter brings the risk of breaking an arm or a leg if she falls. Everyone says that she ruined her mother’s life when she was born. Not when they think Liv is in the room, of course, but she overhears all the same. In the kitchen of a less kind lord, a cook bearing a bastard child would have been more than cause enough for both of them to be out on the street. No, a child like Liv doesn’t have much hope. But when she accidentally unleashes a surge of wild magic, she takes her first step on a journey which will lead her from the kitchens of Castle Whitehill, to the cold palaces of the Eld, and beyond, to the graves of gods... What to Expect: - MC starts off very weak, with a lot disadvantages - not just physically weak, but also vulnerable in a socio-economic sense. She has talents, but it is going to take time to develop them. I want to give this process room to breathe, so I hope you enjoy long-term progression. - The MC begins the story as a child. As she grows up, she will have relationships that I intend to be appropriate for her stages of life, BUT THERE WILL BE NO SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS UNTIL SHE IS AN ADULT. Expect eventual teenage drama progressing into more adult relationships. - There is action, but it is not constant action, and it will again be appropriate for the MCs development. As a child, she will be challenged by child things, and as she grows into power the scale of threats will increase.

This is the story of a young boy who steps into the world of immortals.If you love Fantasy and cultivation novels, then you can give it a shot.It will be slow paced in start, but I will try my best to not make it too slow, that it might become unbearable to read.The main character (MC) will be a lone individual, avoiding excessive social interactions, including friendships.This is my first novel, so please forgive any errors. I will do my best to make it as error-free as possible.Do remind me in the comments for any errors.

“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.