MTL - StarCraft In the Palm of Your Hand - Chapter 682 mysterious creature

Little Red Riding Hood is ill and has only one more month to live, so she decides to live in a hospice. The attitude of the staff here is very unsatisfactory.

“What kind of service attitude do you have here?” Little Red Riding Hood was angry.

“You’re a dying person, do you still need to care about our attitude?” The Dean.

“What happened to serving the dying people? I spent the money, and I demand the best service from you.” Little Red Riding Hood was angry.

“You’re a dying person, do you still need to care about the serving?” The Dean.

“Can you stop repeating about me dying here and there? Believe it or not, I will complain about you.” Little Red Riding Hood was furious.

“You are a dying person with such a narrow mind.” The Dean.

Little Red Riding Hood cried in anger~~~~

“Congratulations, you have been accepted into our company.” The Dean

Underworld Group’s The Honoring Life branch welcomes you.

What Fortune 500, our headquarters is the underworld…

–

The heroine is sick, she is dying, and is admitted to a hospice.

The dean of the hospice handed the heroine a contract and said, “Come on, sign this and this man is yours.”

The heroine signed it. Anyway, I’m dying, so I don’t care about doing anything.

The male protagonist is also sick, and due to the sickness always wants to commit suicide.

Male protagonist: Why every time I commit suicide, there is always a woman to seduce me.

- Description from Novelupdates

On earth, Felix is just a normal guy, a bit of a loner but otherwise normal. In the multiverse, under the rule of The System, he's a caster. Fascinated by magic and hungry to learn, grow and discover, this series follows Felix on his adventures through the integration and beyond.

In a fantasy world where martial artists can split mountains and creeks with a wave of their hand and break rivers with a kick, there exists a little restaurant like this.

The restaurant isn’t large, but it is a place where countless apex existences will rush into.

There, you can taste egg-fried rice made from phoenix eggs and dragon blood rice.

There, you can drink strong wine brewed from vermillion fruit and water from the fountain of life.

There, you can taste the barbecued meat of a ninth grade supreme beast sprinkled with black pepper.

What? You want to abduct the chef? That’s not going to happen, because there’s a divine beast of unfathomable level, the Hellhound, lying at the entrance.

Oh, that chef also has a robotic assistant that killed a ninth grade supreme being with a single hand and a group of crazy women whose stomachs were conquered.

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.