MTL - Infinite Clone: ​​I Am Invincible In Devouring Starry Sky - Chapter 308 The God King of Jin hit the Purple Moon Holy Land

Takebayashi Ryouma, a 39 years old man with hidden past, found himself in a strange white room. The gods tell him that he has died and that they are sending his soul to a different world, a world where magic exists. After living alone for 3 years, his gamer soul loses its common sense and starts along crazy routes.

The protagonist fell asleep while playing an online game. However, he awoke in a strange world with his game character’s appearance. In a state of shock, he noticed that he was equipped with nothing but his strongest weapon and armor. To make matters worse, our hero’s appearance was changed by the special avatar skin『Skeleton』when he entered this new world. The protagonist wanted to live without drawing attention, but he got acquainted with the dark elf Ariana and received her request.

“I don't share my possessions, Mr. Campbell. Your wife stole from me and now I want something back. You should know I always collect what I'm owed,”When Liam Campbell's wife steals from his wealthy female boss and disappears, he's left to face the music. But his boss, Lady Isabella Ashworth, has other plans for repayment—plans that involve keeping the handsome man for herself.Everyone thinks they know the score: young guy becomes a rich woman's plaything. What they don't know is that Liam's got more weapons than just his looks. Behind his perfect face lies a ruthless mind that turned him from a nobody into a rising star.Now, trapped in Isabella's world of luxury and power, he'll play her game—but by his rules. His main goal is to dominate her as much as she wants to dominate him.But who's really taming who?

“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.