Prodigiously Amazing Weaponsmith - Chapter 4817 - Pointers

Set on a giant, almost finished bridge between Sadogashima and Niigata. Abandoned by the government, the bridge, and the giant man-made floating island at the center, has become a city of criminals and societal drop-outs.

Set in the same world as Durarara, but 15-20 years later. There is almost no overlap between Etsusa Bridge and the other novels.

Yggdrasil, the World Tree of Norse Mythology, suddenly appeared on Earth. And with it came demonic creatures that ravaged entire cities.Although not all hope is lost, due to the System that a few special humans had gained.In this new world where only the strong survived, Min JaeHyun scrapes by regretting the wrong choices he’d made in the past… when one day, he gains the only Mythic item in the world.How will this item help him? And can he change his wretched fate?

Wang Ming stood at the pinnacle of existence—just a step away from transcending Heaven and Earth, poised to ascend to a realm no one had ever touched. But at that moment of glory, he was schemed by none other than the Heaven’s favored one—the Son of Luck's master.Forced into regression, Wang Ming is thrown back to his younger years, but this time, so is his greatest enemy. With fate itself seemingly against him, and the Son of Luck determined to end his rise before it begins, Wang Ming must walk a blood-soaked path once more.But he is no ordinary cultivator, he is a variable who defies destiny. Against the will of Heaven, against fate, against the Chosen… he will rise again.This is the story of a man who refuses to bow to fate.

“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.