Beast Taming: I Can Extract Pleasure Points - Chapter 92

Rated +18Ethan (unlike many unlucky protagonists) was doing pretty well, he had just graduated from high school, he isn't a straight A student but he isn't so bad either.He was very popular in his high school days, with short black curly hair, average height and build, and a face any girl would die for, Ethan navigated through high school like a breeze.But before he could leave for college he was diagnosed with a strange illness and was told he had only six months to live.The news was devastating to Ethan but it was true, four months had gone in the blink of an eye and Ethan had only two left, he started trying things he hadn't done before.After getting a recommendation from a friend he bought a virtual reality game called Harem Online.Before he could play the game it glitched and was isekaied into a fantasy world where magic and women reigned supreme.Follow Ethan on his adventure as he navigates through a world dominated by women with his lust system.The early chapters might be a little clumsy but it gets really good, oh and lots of lemon, I mean like a lot of lemons.Additional Tags: Adventure - Action - R18 - Isekai - System - Harem - Weak to Strong - Handsome ML - Beautiful FLs - Smut - Elves - Vampires - Demons - Monster Girls.

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”

When the world became a landscape for a game, humans immediately became dolls who no longer moved nor breathed, frozen like items on display in a shelf.

In the beginning, Bai Youwei thought this was an alien prank. Nobody knew why the humans suddenly became dolls. That was until they were all gathered together and sucked into a bright fog before being greeted by a mechanical voice,

“Ding! Welcome to the Game of Dolls! The rules are as follows:

1. Refusing to play the game will result in dollification!

2. Failure to beat the game will result in dollification!

3. Beating the game to win a doll!”

Bai Youwei walks into the embrace of Shen Mo trembling. “I’m scared, I’m just a weak little girl…”

Shen Mo takes her hand, places it on his abs and says, “Now you don’t have to be scared anymore!”

The game systems starts ringing in the background, “Alert! Alert! Please respect the game and focus! No dating inside the game!”

This is a story of how an intelligent and calm young lady works with a boy with nothing but a hot bod to beat the impossible Game of Dolls!

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I once believed I was the heroine of a modern fairytale, blessed with beauty, wealth, intelligence, and a powerful legacy. Men adored me, women envied me, and I was engaged to the most desirable man, Cole Fay. My life seemed perfect, a dream where I held the starring role. But on my eighteenth birthday, that illusion crumbled. The truth hit me hard: I wasn’t the protagonist, nor even the villain or a side character. I was just cannon fodder, a disposable part of someone else’s story. But when fate recognized the cruel joke of my life, I was granted a second chance. This time, I’ll write my own story, living for myself. And this time . . . I will never love you again.