Guardian Of The End - Chapter 202 The Bookworm Guardian [Part 3]

Nagi Travers, a 20-year-old shut-in and former gaming champion, lives a miserable and isolated existence after being tormented by bullies throughout his life. Fired from his last job and grieving the loss of his parents, Nagi now survives by playing video games and barely ventures outside. His world spirals further into despair when he encounters Jake and Mary, his former high school bullies, who humiliate him and steal his money.Broken by the return of his tormentors and the weight of his past, Nagi contemplates suicide as his only escape. Just as he’s about to take his life, a small girl’s ball rolls into the street, with a speeding truck barreling towards her. In a moment of selflessness, Nagi rushes out and saves the girl, sacrificing himself in the process. Fatally injured, he reflects on the idea that it's better to die doing good than bad.Nagi awakens in a surreal, white world, where he is greeted by an angelic figure who offers him two choices: remain in eternal peace, free from suffering, or be reborn in a different world where he could seek redemption and a second chance at life. Nagi faces a life-altering decision—rest forever or attempt to find meaning and fulfillment in another world.

They took his name, stole his life, and fed on his pain. But they made one mistake—they let him live.Betrayed by his own blood and sold into slavery, Prince Oliver Von Rich lost everything—his title, his freedom, and his future. For years, his captors in the Somaran Empire bled him dry, using his Royal bloodline as fuel for their Aether.But when they sought King Solomon’s Staff—a relic said to grant any wish—Oliver rebelled. Left beaten and dying, his blood soaked the ancient artifact… and awakened it.Dragged back in time to the eve of his kingdom’s fall, Oliver is no longer a helpless prince. With the scars of his past and knowledge of what’s to come, he’ll rewrite fate—even if it means becoming a monster.To destroy the empire that broke him, Oliver must embrace the cursed power of the most vile demon known to man.

The middle boss of the AAA-class game produced by the company. The villain who dies 999 times out of 1,000 times. Deculein.That person, was me now.“You’re going to die on almost every route.”Deculein, like all villains, inevitably dies.[First and foremost survival goal: Be what the game requires you to be]I’ll have to survive even if it means twisting my fate if I am destined to die.

“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.