MTL - The Long-awaited Mr Han - Chapter 3437

A single question has been on every fighter’s mind since the dawn of the world—which weapon is the mightiest?

The answer to that question came in an unexpected form.

Martial Online—a game that was going to revolutionize the world and its future generations was created. It was said to be so realistic that it was near impossible to tell the difference between it and reality.

Jesse Kraham, a youth from Nocklund, had been suffering from an incurable disease since he was a child. Because of the disease, he couldn't live a normal life, and he'd been living a lonely life.

However, the universe was on his side, and he received one stroke of luck that changed the course of his life and the world entirely.

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The world spat on him because he betrayed humanity and took the side of darkness.His executioner was his best friend and his lover stood on one side, her eyes hollow and devoid of any sympathy.Every single one desired him to vanish.However, the moment his pitiful life came to an end he found himself getting summoned by a Goddess.Kneeling on the ground and requesting for his help,[For the last time, please wear the mantle of our champion again. This world needs you, Clarsen.]So she said.The world would be pushed under the darkness of death again, and this time there would be several chosen warriors there to save the world.Yet, despite all that, the eldest Goddess was begging for his support.“Fine, I will do it myself.”********Additional tags: Strong to stronger, ruthless MC, kingdom building, limitless mana, possessive characters, regressor, transmigrator, obsessive love.*********A/N:- Give the story a read until it goes through a time skip. I request you to pass the judgment after that.

Paju, the city of hope, peace and madness.And the tale of a mage trapped in a bizarre world.“In his house at R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.”

“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.