I'm the Mysterious Leader of the Salvation Organization - Chapter 540:

Valhǫll, a fantasy game with a touch of modernity.I thought I’d give it one last try with the rewards of achievements.I acquired extraordinary traits like [Death Avoidance], [Ironman], [Winds], traits I wouldn’t have chosen in ordinary circumstances.But I should have never started.I fell into a game where reaching the ending seemed impossible.With the body of an orphan wandering the market alleys.[Devil’s Blood], [Worst Condition], [Eccentric Actions], [Mysophobia].Plus burdened with hidden penalty traits.“Damn it.”Can I survive?No. I must survive, no matter what it takes.

I was sixteen when the gods abandoned me.The Blessing Ritual was supposed to grant me power, a divine gift to carve my future. Instead, I received nothing. No abilities. No hope. Just another nameless soul left to rot in a world ruled by strength.Fine. If the gods wouldn’t bless me, I’d make my own power.For ten years, I clawed my way forward, experimenting with forces no human should touch. I pushed too far—and it killed me.Then I woke up.Sixteen again. Back at the Ritual. But this time, something changed.Time bends at my will. Blood moves when I command it.The gods still won’t acknowledge me, but it doesn’t matter. This world isn’t fair, and I’ve stopped playing by its rules. Faith and Chaos clash in my veins, and I will use them both.They wanted a Chosen Hero, someone to dance to their tune.Well, too bad for them—I’ll carve my own fate.

Abigail’s only crime in life was being born as the mute daughter of the deceptive maid, who drugged her boss and got pregnant for him… or so she thought.All her life she had to serve her stepsister, Genevieve, attending to her every whim. While Genevieve used every opportunity she got to make Abigail’s life hell, even to the point of seducing Abigail’s boyfriend.On the night she resumes college, Abigail crosses path with Jamal Jonas, a heartbroken elusive billionaire, who leaves behind a stuffed animal that belonged to his first love. Abigail keeps the stuffed animal, which stirs her long lost memories.Five years later, Jamal shows up again, but this time as Genevieve's new live-in driver.Working for Genevieve quickly places him near the supposedly mute and intelligent Abigail who he doesn’t immediately recognize, and soon enough, Jamal finds himself pulled in by Abigail's charms.Jamal quickly realizes there is more to her than meets the eye, and there might be more connecting Abigail to his first love than Genevieve.

“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.