MTL - The Old Gods Are Whispering - Chapter 144 Extraordinary vs Ultra Dimensional

On the night of Xiao Ke’s thirtieth birthday, he shared a table while drinking. The person he shared the table with was a cool man who fit all of his aesthetic desires. It was practically love at first sight.

He was thirty; he had reached that age where he was no longer the awkward twenty-something youth. He would pursue the one he liked without hesitation, no questions asked.

“I want you to give me a tattoo. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

- Description from Novelupdates

Wu Jin, as a trainee from a certain entertainment company, had a peerless, stunning face. He was qualified to debut as a C-Rank performer even if he just sat there and did nothing.

After signing up for a certain talent show, the shining path to stardom beckoned to him––

Wu Jin: Hold on, why is this show different from what we agreed on? Wasn’t it supposed to be about jumping around, dancing, and singing songs? Why do you have to send me out into the wilderness…

Program Producer: You’re a once-in-a-century high appearance value competitor! We’re relying on you to save the program’s ratings!

Wu Jin: … I seem to be on the wrong show. Wait a minute, this isn’t an idol show, it’s a fighting survival reality show ahhh!!

Ten months later, the little cutie who had been thrown into the show––
Turned into a human weapon.

Powering up through various instances, slight entertainment circle elements.

Extremely overpowered gong x little cutie who grows to become an overpowered shou.

Completed Instances
Round One – Wilderness Survival
Round Two – Cellular Spaces
Round Three – Tarot Card Formation
Round Four – Cretaceous Period Revival
Round Five – Palace of Versailles
Round Six – Time Warp
Round Seven – Ancient Talent Show

A brief single sentence introduction: Debut! Survival reality show!

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.