MTL - Supreme Demon - Chapter 3515 Tu Xian is at that time!

Kaidan (Kaidan refers to eerie tales of strange, mysterious, rare, or bewitching ghosts and monsters from Japanese folklore.) feed on cognition, wield information as weapons, and use information as currency, existing between the peculiarities of neither life nor death.They exist in human rumors and dwell in the shadows of the world.“Does this mean I will become a Kaidan?”In ancient times, they were worshipped as deities, empowered by faith.“Then I am a deity!”In more recent ancient times, they were regarded as demons and fed on fear.“I will become the master of Kaidan!”However, as the tides of time washed over, they gradually vanished, leaving behind only texts considered to be delusions.“To restore the glory of Kaidan is an undeniable duty of ours.”But you are not yet a Kaidan, hmm, nor a person.“Well, becoming a Kaidan counts as success.”

Ning Ruogong died to Zebras as he laid his hands on The Energy System, which reincarnated him to the Southern continent of the Planet Kumia.

How strong will he become after cultivating as an undying entity?

When the Terminally Ill Noble Allenbert woke up from his fever, he realized that he was the reincarnation of Karzan, the mad dog who roamed the underworld.…But something about this place doesn’t feel right.“Allenbert, nobles need secrets and darkness.”The sinister and chilling schemes of his brother, like a snake, are suffocating him from all sides.“You’ve been causing quite a stir lately.”The powerful and authoritative eyes and ears of the head of the family are hidden everywhere, watching him.“…When will I see Mother?”Meeting his mother, who has secluded herself due to a mental illness, seems impossible.“But it’s okay.”Karzan failed, but Allenbert’s journey is just beginning.“Two lives, two revenges.”There’s no mercy.I’ll pay back with interest, and make sure it’s done properly.

“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.