Catgirls And Dungeons - Chapter 126: Swallowing fear

Joseph Knox, one of the most prolific and well-known serial killers on the planet.A person considered so demented and manic that even trying to reason with him was believed to be a waste of time. A man so far gone that he seemingly didn't deserve any pity even on his deathbed.So why? Why would a man like him receive a second chance? And why did the world around him seem so familiar?Disclaimer: AU when it comes to some parts of Madara's plan(I'll try to make it make sense at least), and aliens don't exist in this world

Government intelligence agencies realized that Konrad, the world’s number one wife robber, was endowed with a supreme weapon allowing him to turn the purest of maidens into hungry beasts: The Golden Rod!

Frascoia Continent… Various races like Celestials, Demons, Humans, Monsters, Elves, Dwarves, and so on occupied this continent.

Humans and the other races lived on the mainland of the continent while the Celestials and Demons lived in Heaven and Purgatory, respectively.

Within the Demons, a prodigy named Azaroth rose quickly, even by demons' standards, to the point of being dubbed a Demon God. There was only one person above him within the demons: The Great Demon Venerable, the Demons' Supreme Godfather.

Azaroth's extraordinary talent never had the chance to blossom to its full potential; a terrible calamity struck him down and he died soon after. But was this calamity just misfortune or was it hiding an opportunity for him?

Near his deathbed, he prepared for his future ascent to achieve his lofty goal.

Millions of years had passed after Demon God Azaroth's demise and now a young aristocrat called Edwin Rhodes came across a mysterious cave.

“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.