MTL - Marvel: Unlimited Possession - Chapter 459 Chainfinger vs Ghost Rider

Thirty years old, he is an otaku. His job is to sell customized 6v elves on Taobao.com. He has just received a big order and has not yet completed the work. He has traveled to the real world of elves.

With a newly modified bird with its own “pick up” feature,

And a cheat that can change the flash, characteristics, and individual value of race.

But, can anyone tell him why there are only half of the gold fingers? !

And, silly bird, put down the Guyoka in your mouth!

Seeing Gu Yueniao who brought Gaioka home, Hu Yang suddenly became ill.

——

The book is also known as: A career in the Pokémon world from scratch.

- Description from novelbuddy

Until he became the lowest-ranked master, his lonely and luckless life never changed.

Suddenly one day, a descendant injected him with a nanomachine, and the machine started ‘speaking’ to him.

“What? What are you talking about?”

This was beyond the boy’s knowledge, he turned pale.

The Nanomachine linked to his cerebrum realized the User was not understanding a single word it said.

“Who are you, and why are you doing this to me?”

“Nano Mashin?”

The boy’s face hardened.

Mashin was the deity the Mashin Religion worshipped, along with the Sacred Fire.

The religions’ Master communicated with Mashin.

“Um, are you really Mashin?”

The boy knelt down and asked with a trembling voice. At this, the Nanomachine attached to his cerebrum realized it had been misunderstood.

“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.

He is the heir of Di Hao Group; decisive, cold-blooded yet dotes on his wife a little too much.

“Husband, I think I want to rear a pet. What do you think we should rear?”

“Rear you.”

“Husband, I want to change bed sheets. Which material do you think is the most comfortable to sleep on?”

“You.”

“………”

Zhuang Nai Nai: Can’t he speak properly for once?

One day, somebody asked the man, “Why are you always the first one to bow your head every time you two fight?”

Si Zheng Ting: “I am 185 cm, she is 165 cm. Of course I have to bow down to speak to her.”

To put it short, this is a story about a black-belly president, his wife and their effort to conceive children after marriage.

- Description from Novelupdates