MTL - Great Medicine Without Borders - Chapter 612 gangster

Kiro is a slave branded with a deadly collar, forced to work in brutal mines under the ruthless Kargal Empire. Each year, slaves are hunted for sport in the deadly Hunting Games—a fight to the death on a savage alien moon. This year, Kiro is chosen to play. Sent into a wilderness filled with monsters and traps, survival seems impossible. But something ancient watches from the shadows—and it has plans for him.

In another world called Blue Star, the famous son of wealth, Dorian D. Tian, is thrown into a whirl of unfortunate circumstances, resulting in his death.

His parents had a brutal car accident that left them in a coma, and his uncle had quickly taken over the company, seized the company, making sure that he was financially crippled for good.

With that, the famous young master struggled desperately.

And in the end, he gave in to his despair and depression, leaving the sad, lonely world.

The end?

Heh... Think again!

Because in that brief moment, the lifeless corpse suddenly opened its eyes, revealing a deep calm look.

That's right. Another mysterious soul had entered the body.

But if one thought that this story was just about revenge, then sorry... that wasn't even the half of it!

....

The mysterious entity suddenly triggered an exorcist system.

And from then on, both humans and even those from the underworld shuddered in fear and despair at the mysterious soul's cruelty.

[Humans]: “Demon! Demon! You're definitely a demon!”

[Demons]: “Help! Help! The famous demon wants to eat me!”

[Evil Spirits]: “You!... Are you the one who is an evil spirit or us? Why the hell did it seem like you're the demonic one instead?”

[Ghouls]: “You stay away from me! Stay away from me now, you evil entity!”

[Hellhounds]: “Are you sure that you're not the son of hades?”

The system couldn't help looking at its host in doubt.

Its indicators said that its host was indeed mortal. But why did it feel like something was wrong with its host?

Dorian lightly chuckled in amusement.

He would also like to ask the same question.

What exactly was his identity?

Well, this would be the biggest mystery of all.

But Dorian wasn't in a hurry.

Who were his enemies, and who were his allies?

Soon, he would find the truth.

In the meantime, why not play a little?

“Demon! stay back!”

“Oooo~~~... I... I want to go back to the underworld where it's safe.”

“Run for your lives! The demon is here!”

…..

“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.

By the time I reached thirty, I hadn't managed to provide any of the happiness I wanted for my wife.I also still couldn't become the support my parents relied on.At this turning point in my fate, my income suddenly began to increase randomly.(A daily life tale in a wealthy family setting, featuring a single female lead and no harem.)