The Third Prince Of Darkness - Chapter 112: Still a piece of humanity

A major event happened recently to the demonic sect – their powerful sect master suddenly went missing.

Everyone comforted each other: “Don’t worry, the sect master must be out pursuing fun, and so on.”

“Well, that makes sense.”

They waited.

Waited and waited.

Waited and waited.

Waited and… Everyone slammed the table: “We’ve waited so long! The sect master must have met with a mishap! Look for him!!” Numerous disciples therefore ran rumbling down the mountain.

On a certain day of the month, a certain sect master opened his eyes and thought in confusion: Hey, who am I?

- Description from Novelupdates

[Mature Content.]

“I’ll always be by your side, next to you, on top of you, behind you... The choice is yours to make.”

An immortal who has lived a millennium...

He went by many names, many lives, many titles, but one stuck with him the most...

Kaden. One look and you'd think you've met the devil. Dangerous, devious, and indifferent, people always bowed their heads to him—except for the woman that brought the tyrant to his knees.

A woman with a special ability and curse...

Lina. She was cursed with clairvoyance—the ability to see a person's close or far future. When most don't remember their childhood, Lina remembered her first life. Since birth, she had repeated nightmares about a man who supposedly died. 1000 years after his death, Lina sees him again, and he wants everything to do with her.

Unfortunately, there's nowhere in this world she could go that he couldn't find her. What'd happen to the frightened Lina and the devious Kaden?

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Warning:

Strong sexual content.

A smutty LitRPG with a futa lead.Long-running. Support me at Pat.treon.com/winterwhereof and receive early chapters.***Levels. Skills. Dungeons.As a nineteen year old living in modern society, these are terms Zoey is aware of. But had she ever expected to experience these videogame abstractions in the literal sense? To struggle through monster-infested realms, earning skills, casting spells, and acquiring rare and magical items?Obviously not.And more than the strange environment she finds herself in, Zoey contends with the bizarre reality of her class. Of being summoned by a sensual, perverted goddess who has gleefully bestowed a throbbing length between Zoey’s legs, then sent her off with a single unhelpful instruction: to save the world, and ascend to divinity while doing so.It’s all a bit much.But with so many cute girls to lay conquest to, and a new piece of equipment to help her along the way … well, things could be much, much worse.

“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.