The Last Incubus with The Vice and Valor System - Chapter 127: Soon

When Qiao Sang opened her eyes, She realized she had become a middle-school studentImmediately afterwards, She was greeted with a mock test.Having graduated from a 985 university, would such a puny test still intimidate her?Yes. Yes, it would.What on earth is this exam about!What is the final evolved form of the stinky loach called?Which planets have humans already migrated to?

The universe is big, and Hayden’s about to invade it. Being drafted into a demon army wasn’t on Hayden’s bucket list. But when his soul is shoved into a human soldier on the eve of a new invasion, it’s not exactly like he can appeal the decision. Surrounding Hayden are demons, excited and ready. For them, the invasion promises a feast of souls and new growth. Their target? Berlis — a sword and sorcery realm straight out of classic fantasy. Hayden’s human status puts him at the bottom of the totem pole, meant to be cannon fodder that soaks up damage and dies first. But as he plunges into the carnage, he’s learning that he was born for the madness. Readers can expect: + Grimdark action and violence + Fighting, lots of it + Multiple worlds and magic systems + Slow burn

The dawn era after the end of the half century has gradually rebuilt the order, abandoned civilization, and is full of undivided violence and desire.
The noble and powerful pioneers are in charge of the city, and the evil and mad plagues are in the wilderness.
Pure human beings who cannot mutate are the weakest, dominated by the rulers of the pioneers, and are not as good as animals in the wilderness.
A purely humanized young man with a worldly experience has quietly entered the WTO, holding a three-foot long knife and a long-distance desire to boil in the world of purgatory. From the nameless name to the sorrow of the Supreme Court, the name of the black ride is resounding!

- Description from Uukanshu (translated)

“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.