MTL - The Rebirth of an Ill-Fated Consort - Chapter 236 The meaning of the emperor

Why did an incubus become the most coveted species among the most powerful and sought-after empresses, even by primordial goddesses?!

There is a famous legend on the ALZANIA planet. Who says that once every hundred thousand years, an incubus will be born, through a mystical ritual. He will possess mysterious powers that could allow any empress mage to reach divinity, any goddess to achieve supremacy!!....... But would the possessor of such power have the blessing of a peaceful life?!------

Follow the daily life of Alvine, who had just opened his eyes, who suddenly found himself in the body of a boy celebrating his 18th birthday.

[ Ding!! ....]

[The host has reached the age required for activation of the succubus gene ]

[The transformation process into an incubus will begin in 5 seconds... 5....4...3..2..1...]

A high school boy meets an unfortunate end by a well-meaning but bureaucratically incompetent god. As an apology for his accidental demise, the god offers him reincarnation in a fantasy world—complete with a powerful cheat to ensure his survival. However, due to a small clerical error, our protagonist is reborn as a girl!Determined to make the most of her new life, she boldly declares, “Give me the strongest weapon imaginable!”—only to be granted… a harem of overly devoted female soulmates?!Now, stuck in a medieval world filled with magic, monsters, and gorgeous women vying for her affection, she must navigate her bizarre fate while somehow becoming the legendary hero she was meant to be.Will she ever find a way back to her original body? Can she survive this world without succumbing to yuri-fueled chaos? And most importantly… does love truly conquer all?!One thing’s for sure—her adventure is about to be way more complicated than she expected.

“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.

Within the red tent, under the passionate eyes of the man on top, she was forced to make love and three thousand black strands turned to white.