MTL - Devil King From The Otherworldly Dimension - Chapter 75 Uncle is very kind

Born into darkness, Lucius is marked by an infernal curse—the Mark of the Abyss. This unholy sigil endows him with powers that defy mortal comprehension, yet seals his fate: servitude, rejection, and a grim demise.Embark on a journey with Lucius as he unravels the hidden truth behind the Marks, battles to carve out a destiny of his own, and strikes back against the cruel fate imposed upon him.In a world that shuns him for his cursed existence, Lucius will forge unlikely alliances to challenge those who scorn him. He is driven by a relentless desire to claim a place for himself and his loved ones, no matter the cost.Prepared to plunge into the darkest depths of depravity, Lucius is poised on the brink of a harrowing journey. The ultimate enigma remains: what awaits him in the abyss of his ambitions?

My name is Duncan Grimshaw, A hunter, I just had been married to my wife and we still didn't have any children. One day, While exploring the Dungeon with my Party, we found a strange thing that people will never expect to find in the Dungeon, a child, a small black child that somehow lives in the Dungeon.

Seeing that, I can only wonder ... how can a child exist in the Dungeon? who's are his parents?

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Demons are rampant, the court is corrupt, the human race is declining, demons are rampant, and the world is treacherous and haunted.

Martial arts masters are just more delicious blood food in front of monsters.

There has never been a savior in this world!

My name is Jiang Heng, and I am the one who runs amok!

- 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.