Tales Of The World Devouring Serpent - Chapter 87: Mysterious Disappearance

Asura – proud, warlike, cruel, heartless.

A young adult with a mysterious background follows his father’s prophecy and enters the world of «Rebirth», somehow managing to inherit the Xuanyuan Sword, and also unexpectedly obtaining the hidden class Asura.

Following the tracks of both virtual and reality he gradually discovers a secret hidden for the past billion years.

Asura, the class that used to shake the lands has now completely disappeared. He must now go on a journey to find the true meaning of Asura—until the day he transforms and becomes one with Asura.

- Description from Novelupdates

She leaned down to look inside the well and sighed. Tucking back her hair behind her ear as the evening wind blew.

“I told you not to be a curious cat,“ she scolded looking at the well to receive a small “meow“ from it. Her cat had stepped on the edge of the well no matter how many times she placed it back on the ground and as expected it fell inside it,

“You know what I“m goin...

I don’t know why I die, I don’t know why I live.

Divided hunters die of loyalty,

The witch who plays with emotions dies of love,

Cautious fortune-tellers die of trust.

The thief who steals everything has nothing,

The visionary who created everything never existed.

The traveler fell on his way home,

The twilight giants rest before dawn.

Lawyers sacrifice for order,

Judges forget the law.

The sleepless sleeps in the dark,

The corpse collector lay in the coffin.

We are guardians, and a bunch of poor creatures who are constantly fighting against danger and madness.

This journey is life and death.

While drowning was inevitable, they had struggled.

This is the worst of times, this is the best of times.

- 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.