Help! I am bound to Aizen! - Chapter 365

Aihara Runa was a person who had been living in hell of misfortune. One day she found herself in a strange stage, apparently her soul was reaped without permission and sold at an auction to gods from another world along with her 28 classmates. But there was a trouble, it seems that Aihara’s soul was extremely smelly and stinky. Instead of getting a buyer, she was thrown away and with her soul in danger of disappearing.However, when her soul was about disappear, she met an unnamed goddess who claimed herself as a god’s vessel. The goddess said that she can help Aihara to get reincarnated but with one condition, that is to bring her along and get reincarnated together. Aihara who was about disappeared accepted the goddess’ condition and got reincarnated successfully as Emmy. But apparently, the hard life still continued even after reincarnated too….If there’s no food, then let’s get some bugs!!! Let’s just enjoy this hard life together with the reliable partner [Omake-sama] inside my head and have fun instead.As Emmy managed to survive while watching and getting involved in the events of another cheat reincarnations, she grew into an irregular. This is a story about Emmy, a soul who managed to survive from disposal by gods. However, she doesn’t know that her reincarnation did not list in fate’s archive and unconsciously broke the gods’ scenario one after another.

I started off as nothing, just a mass of consciousness that slowly evolved. Just your average overpowered existence hungry for a multiverse adventure.

am the only son of Connaugt and Strathmore, and the grandson of Queen Victoria of the British Empire. Now, as a member of the Saxe-Coburg-Gotha Dynasty, I swear to witness and protect the rise of this land with my life, uniting all Australians and New Zealanders under a new name to witness our rise: Australasia forever!

“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.