MTL - The Barrage Said, I Am the Final Villain In the Game - Chapter 2 It really is a standard villain mentality~

[Mature Content] Divorced and in debt, Elena decides to become the contract wife of three rich and famous men. A fair exchange begins between a woman disillusioned about love and men with their own demands and desires. But when they demand for more than her body, she discovers many dark truths as the past slowly catches up to her.

Three Souls lay in one body,

One soul belonging to a man who had reached the peak, the strongest there ever was, the one who had the talent to do so. Yet he suffered because of his talent. His soul shone as bright as a galaxy once, but now is but a sun. His talents made him the envy of all.

And He lost it all.

The Second soul belonged to a man soon to be the richest in the world.

A man who had his face charred, a man who seemingly had every odd placed against him from the very beginning.

He went against the family that abused him and triumphed over them. Yet he was left broken inside, He craved a release, and the first soul brought him that release.

And he became a psychopath that scared the manifestation of evil itself.

And the Third?

The child born from their souls was anything but ordinary. Cursed with a fate no one wanted. Cursed with the fact that the Universe wanted him dead.

He was born from Chaos And Ice and a fraction of light, Yet manipulated Space.

His abilities were so powerful they were harmful to his body.

His talent is as infinite as the boundless cosmos.

His enemies were greater than one could count.

His luck is worse than shit.

And Yet, he continued to fight. Despite whatever was thrown at him, he would brute force through it or outsmart it, befitting the other two above.

He continued to fight, not believing in the bullshit that was destiny.

When an S-class elite assassin-raised captain of a special ops suicide squad comes home from a high-stakes Africa mission, he finds himself offered something that could potentially set him up for life- a curious assignment that he could use to finally exit his days of war and slaughter.

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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