MTL - Horror Camgirl - Chapter 52 Death disc

Xia Muqing is originally an archaeologist when she unexpectedly transmigrates. In another life, she becomes the useless daughter of a reputable family who is mocked and bullied by everyone. A brand new Xia Muqing is reborn from the ashes. From then on, she uses her skills and medical knowledge to subdue beasts and to seek revenge!

She uses poison to repay her sister who was born of her father’s mistress. She swears to make those who harmed and betrayed her pay with their blood!

The figure of the Armada seems to be still riding the wind and waves in the Atlantic Ocean, and the gold of South America still seems to flow in continuously. As Alfonso from the Bourbon family returns to the Royal Palace of Madrid where he was born, the story begins here…

- Description from novelbuddy

Witnessing her ex-boyfriend and best friend getting together, Isabella Weaver impulsively decided to have a flash marriage!After the wedding, Isabella led a more thrilling life.The neighbor's dog bit her, and the next day the neighbor disappeared and the dog was missing.Her boss harassed her, and the next day the company was emptied and the boss vanished.The principal wanted to expel her, and the next day the school was closed and the principal disappeared.Her biological father hit her, and the next day the house was gone with her father and stepmother both missing!Isabella was a bit panicked. Just who was this husband she randomly picked up on the street?“Sir, could you please introduce yourself? I can't handle too much shock!”The man calmly replied, “My identity, your husband, the rest, unimportant.”(The most pampering and sweetest on the entire internet! There's none like it! After reading this book, you won't need to eat sweets because—you'll be sweetened to death.)

“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.