MTL - After Brushing Face At The Apocalypse’s Boss For 363 Days - ~ 36 | 35．32．6．

This is the story of a young boy who steps into the world of immortals.If you love Fantasy and cultivation novels, then you can give it a shot.It will be slow paced in start, but I will try my best to not make it too slow, that it might become unbearable to read.The main character (MC) will be a lone individual, avoiding excessive social interactions, including friendships.This is my first novel, so please forgive any errors. I will do my best to make it as error-free as possible.Do remind me in the comments for any errors.

Wrongly imprisoned for a crime she did not commit, Ye Qiao was freed from the iron gates that locked her away for seven years with nowhere to go, no one to see, and nothing to move on to following the passing of her husband, who she had never appreciated. The man was part of the Special Forces and had been killed during a mission.

This is the story where Urahara Kisuke died after Nel failed to save him inside Askin’s Gift Ball Delux and reincarnated in the world of DxD.

I am not sure if I can capture Urahara’s character properly so I apologize in advance if you are not satisfied.

Also, English is not my native language.

I don’t own any of the characters from the canon.

“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.