Ancient Eden - Chapter 79

Shiloh is an Dominant Omega, in a world where he lives Dominant Omega and Dominant Alpha only born among the elite. So when his father sold him to some 'Madam', everyone used him. Shiloh got a lot of bad treatment until he meets Gruvv, a Dominant Alpha. Gruvv himself has a problem, he can't smell pheromones because of his depression. He was never in a RUT again and his family was constantly looking for ways to get him to smell pheromones again. In the side, Gruvv is the heir to the DHURUDATTA family, a mafia family that also made Shiloh's father run away because of his debts.

The much-anticipated cyberpunk holographic game was about to launch, and Jonathan hit the jackpot, getting chosen as a beta tester. But things take a bizarre turn. He realized he wasn't just playing some holographic game – he'd been transported to an actual parallel universe.

The moment he logged in, he felt something was off.

Question: What do you do when you discover that your in-game identity is the Federation's most wanted, and you're undercover in the official investigation department?

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Condition 1: One yellow scarf soldier rune is satisfied

Condition 2: Kill 100 rune monsters independently

Condition 3: 5,000 times of training to kill a pig with a knife is satisfied

Condition 4: 10 Spirit Talisman Pills are satisfied

Rune unlock upgrade.

Your source runes have been promoted from ordinary quality [Yellow Turban Soldiers] to premium quality [Yellow Turban Warriors]!

- Description from novelbuddy

“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.