Lord of the Karmic Fate - Chapter 87 Unable To Grow Stronger! (4-Last)

“I shall fuck every woman's hole and mouth until I become the undefeated vampire lord of lust!”

With a demoness of lust fell on his boner, Zoravec, a 19 years old seemingly human struggled to keep his carnal desires in control.

The only one way to find his mate is dual cultivate with every single existing woman! But things go wrong when his vampire blood activated the bloodlust, and his first sex partner dies of blood loss.

Zoravec has no bloodline due to his mixed blood. But his power outbursts are no match for other vampire nobles. Especially with the huge harem of beauties who possess every kind of lethal power, who are at his beck and call.

What chaos will the hatred towards his own kind bring?

Where there is light there shall be darkness

Hero? Nahh I'm the demon.

In a world where the demons are looked on as the incarnation of evil, the human-demon war raged on across the whole continent.

The Seraphims, protector of humanity, and the Demon lords who rule across all demonkind. Amidst all the chaos, Simon was reincarnated as the lowest ranking demon noble.

A brutal world where the strong feeds on the weak, eat or be eaten, kill or be killed. A demon far off from humanity….a dream unfulfilled in his previous life will be achieved in this life. Taking on the moniker of Laplace, he destroys all his enemies and rise over them.

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.”