King Of War: Starting with Arms Dealer - Chapter 955 - 857: It Turns Out to Be One of Us!

Haruka, consulted by a friend who ran into a ghost at school, goes to the Movie Research Circle to see a man with mysterious powers. However, the person who meets her there is an affected young man with terrible bed hair and sleepy eyes. What does Haruka consult him about? A confinement and murder case at a women’s university, a false suicide case… The great detective who can see the spirits of the dead, Saitou Yakumo, takes these cases on in this astoundingly high-speed spiritual mystery!

In the year 2033 it began.

Gods, monsters, devils, angels every higher creature from every mythology began to bless those they found worthy and share their powers.

Eventually with the emergence of the gates, we realized they were preparing us.

The so called chosen heroes who enter gates are known as the Blessed and in it’s become the most sought after career in the world.

They are the most famous and well known people in the entire world and some are even the leaders of their own nations.

They are immensely powerful, beautiful, and charming beings.

After five whole years, we still have no idea what the higher’s criteria are for blessing a human.

Despite the seemingly loose criteria, only 1 percent of the population actually end up as blessed and gain the privilege of entering gates and defending our world.

With all of the excitement around the Blessed, we seem to have forgotten the most important question.

Why are they doing this for us and what will they require in return?

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“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.

I can see ghosts.Even the ghosts inside games.But then…”Ah! Not there, over that way! My family heirloom is hidden there.”The ghosts in the game keep revealing hidden pieces to me.