Matan's Shooter - Chapter 912

“Congratulations! Your divorce process will soon be complete. You can finally be rid of that pervert and go looking for true love. Aren’t you happy?”

“What’s there to be happy about?” As a top-notch female celebrity and popular actress, Luo Ying had always been admired by countless male and female fans alike. After waking up, not only did she have to face the reality of transmigrating into a novel, but she also had to get a divorce from the villain in the novel. Her nightmarish life would soon begin!

In the novel, Luo Ying had feelings for the male lead. After getting a divorce from the villain, she did everything she could to set the female lead up. In the end, the male lead locked her in a mental asylum and tortured her until she died.

Luo Ying shivered at the thought of such an ending. She didn’t want to die young. She wanted to stay alive!

To protect herself, the top-notch actress with a sweet voice began igniting flames of passion in the villain’s heart.

“Honey, I’m tired. Please hug me.”

“Are you sleepy? Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?”

Luo Ying thought she had turned off the livestream camera. Little did she know, it was still on. Her husband picked her up and looked at her gently. The way he coaxed her was broadcast on the livestream. On that very day, the entire internet crashed!

Netizens: Is this the content I’m supposed to see without paying? God, please give me a husband like him. Please give me a wife like her!

In the 30th century, Tyler Rustel is an eccentric and visionary genius, renowned as a brilliant inventor. His life, however, comes to an abrupt end when a small experimental nuclear reactor explodes in a series of unforeseen events. Yet, death is not the end for Tyler. He awakens in a body that feels both familiar and foreign—a parallel version of himself in a completely different universe.This is not a world of technological progress or orderly civilization. Here, twisted gods roam the cosmos, shaping realities according to their cruel whims. The moral laws that governed his previous world do not exist. This is a magical universe, one marked by brutal betrayals, interdimensional wars, and endless massacres. The balance between the forces that rule this cosmos is fragile, and Tyler finds himself at the center of schemes involving powerful entities and boundless ambitions.However, Tyler is no longer an ordinary man. Upon awakening in this new world, he discovers that a fragment of his technology has survived with him: an advanced artificial intelligence system capable of analyzing, adapting, and enhancing anything, provided it has the necessary data. From magical weapons and arcane spells to alchemical techniques and enchanted jewelry, everything can be optimized under his supervision.Armed with this technological advantage in a universe dominated by magic, Tyler quickly realizes the potential of his unique position. While others struggle to survive, he schemes to conquer. Driven by his sharp intellect and a questionable sense of morality, Tyler embarks on a ruthless campaign to achieve magical supremacy and subjugate all worlds around him. He seeks neither redemption nor alliances. His ambition is clear: to rule everything and everyone as a tyrant, to amass an immense harem of women, and to father one million children to establish his legacy across all realms.

At nineteen, Dexter was already one of the world’s most celebrated authors. His books topped charts. Critics praised his genius. Fans devoured every word. But behind the acclaim was a lonely boy—raised without parents, love, or real friends—just stories.He published his first novel at fourteen. By seventeen, he was a literary star. But the higher he rose, the hollower it felt.Then came the writer’s block. The headaches. The blackout. And the transmigration.Dexter awoke in the body of Daylan, a disgraced young man in a crumbling, medieval world laced with steampunk tech, divine law, and political unrest. Daylan had already failed two of the three sacred Trials—rites that determine one’s magical potential. He was drowning in debt, entangled in plots to overthrow a corrupt Divine Church, and branded a lost cause.With no way back, Dexter took the final Trial—the most brutal of them all—and began a path that would earn him the whispered title: Soldier, Poet, King.But as his powers grew, one question haunted him: Did he truly die? And if so, who—or what—chose to bring him back?

“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.