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... y of his demise left everyone stunned, unsure of how to react. On one side stood the group led by Lyon, with Kesya's terrifying aura slowly subsiding but still lingering, and on the other stood Drako, his arrogance momentarily replaced by disbelief and uncertainty.

The onlookers, including the other young masters and their entourage, were frozen in a moment of eerie silence. The confrontation had taken a drastically dark turn, plunging them into a reality where the stakes were higher and ...

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'I should have stayed home and played video games' this was Ray's last thought before darkness engulfed him after he was hit by a car.

But surprisingly instead of finding himself before the gate of hell after dying, Ray found out he was transmigrated into another world.

The world Ray was transmitted to was called Arora world, a world where you can use different kinds of skills, magic and can even get powerful classes.

Ray found himself in a body of a young boy called Evan, who was studying in a hunter academy after awakening his ability at the age of fourteen.

At first, Ray was happy that he was transmigrated into the body of someone who has awakened his ability and can use the magic that he always wanted to use.

But when Ray goes through the memories of Evan, he finally found out everything is not as simple as he was expecting.

Evan has a unique physique that doesn't allow him to increase his power like other people, because of his useless unique physique Evan was the weakest hunter in the entire academy.

And that was not all the more Ray looks at the memories of Evan the more he realizes just how troublesome his situation is.

“I know I enter in this body without buying a ticket but isn't this too much?” Ray said in a depressed voice after going through the memories of Evan.

Will Ray be able to survive in this new world?

Is the physique of his new body really useless?

Join Ray In his adventure to find out.

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“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.