Playing With Other Supernaturals - Chapter 493: At what cost?

Zuo Chengan was thrown into a brutal survival game, only to awaken its sole god-tier skill: The Eye of Truth.From that moment, he began to see the game—and the world—for what they truly were.A broken branch lying by the roadside?Ordinary players: “Just a useless stick. Toss it aside!”Zuo Chengan: “A hidden NPC is offering a feast of rare delicacies.”A suspicious dish placed before the group?Ordinary players: “Don’t touch it! It’s probably poisoned!”Zuo Chengan: “Completely safe. And utterly delicious.”A monstrous creature blocking their path?Ordinary players: “Terrifying! Avoid it at all costs!”Zuo Chengan: Silently studies its hidden weakness.What began as a game to push humanity toward evolution revealed itself to be something far more sinister—a trap, a scheme of ruthless exploitation.The desperate battles fought in the game’s dungeons were nothing but a spectacle, staged for the amusement of another world.With his all-seeing Eye of Truth, Zuo Chengan ascended through the 12 Heavenly Trials, dismantling the web of lies spun by the false gods. His piercing sight exposed the malicious truths behind the game.Standing at the summit, blade in hand, he declared, “I will cut through this endless night, tearing apart the shadows of chaos to reveal the light of truth. Let the world see reality once more!”

“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.

A Mature Lady: You have a house?

Admist the turmoil of a blood-soaked battlefield, General Hua Ren was perched on a horse, his once-pristine uniform now a canvas of rebel bloodstains. Lifeless bodies, a macabre mosaic of soldiers and rebels, lay strewn across the ground—some severed, others trampled beneath the hooves of horses.In the distant backdrop, a bomb erupted, rattling the battlefield, and in that fleeting moment, the General detected the scent.His Alpha.His heart raced as his gaze locked onto the most frigid, intimidating eyes he had ever encountered, and a sinking feeling gripped his stomach.Sheng Fei, leader of the rebellion, stood tall amidst the chaos, a sinister smirk playing on his lips. In a chilling display of power, Sheng Fei swiftly ended the life of a soldier, his eyes never leaving Hua Ren.The stark reality unfolded before Hua Ren, solidifying the bitter truth that their connection was entwined in the threads of enmity.He could never be the Omega to a Rebel AlphaOr so he thought.