Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs

I jerked sideways and the shot tore the air apart near my head, a crack so close I could feel the bullet's slipstream. My superior reflexes yanked me sideways, body weaving between obstacles like a machine running pre-coded maneuvers.

But another guard cut me off—submachine gun barking as he erupted from behind a generator. Bullets hammered into my back and shoulders, kinetic jacket soaking the impacts and sending ripples of force crawling over my ribs. It still hurt like hell, each shot a hammerblow in my chest.

"This is a fucking demon!" He shouted in russian.

I didn't stop. Didn't slow. Two rounds into his chest, one into his face. His skull burst backward like rotten fruit under a mallet, fragments of bone and teeth spraying into the night.

Another one lunged at me by the building entrance, rifle rising too slow. I hit the concrete in a slide, feet-first, taking out both ankles in a shattering collision. His legs folded under him with wet crunches, screams high-pitched, ragged.

I rolled up, knife flashing. The blade punched into his kidney, twisted, and dragged free in a geyser of blood that sprayed across the wall. He collapsed shrieking, clutching at the slick ruin of his side as I left him to bleed out in the dirt.

There were more waiting—the last two, positioned like professionals at the entrance. One behind the frame, one locked behind a concrete pillar. Overlapping fields of fire, tight kill zones. They'd done this before.

But they made the wrong assumption—that I'd come straight at them.

Instead, I went vertical.

The wall became a ladder. Fingers clawed into mortar cracks, boots finding purchase on ledges. My body moved with the alien precision of downloaded parkour routines—push, leap, cling, climb.

Each muscle knew the rhythm before my brain could doubt.

The two guards never saw me vanish into the dark sky above them.

The wall ended under my palms and I vaulted up, rolling silently onto the flat roof. The night air hit cold against my sweat-slick skin, carrying the stink of cordite and blood rising from below.

The sniper was prone twenty feet away, cheek pressed to his scope, finger tightening on the trigger. His rifle was sleek, modern, suppressor glinting in the floodlight glow. He was calm, professional—until my shadow fell across him.

He jerked his head up, eyes widening behind night-vision goggles. Too slow.

I closed the distance in three strides. My boot slammed down on the barrel of his rifle, pinning it flat against the gravel. The knife in my hand punched down through his collarbone, burying to the hilt.

He screamed once, high and sharp, before I ripped the blade free and jammed it sideways into his throat. Hot arterial spray blasted across my face, the copper taste of blood painting my tongue. He convulsed under me, legs kicking, hands clawing uselessly at my arms.

I silenced him by driving the knife through the goggles into his eye. The crunch was wet, brittle, and final.

The sniper went limp, blood pooling into the rooftop gravel.

Shouts below—his partners had realized something was wrong. The two guards at the entrance shifted positions, scanning outward, rifles sweeping the kill zone where they thought I'd be.

I was already above them.

I dropped from the roof like a predator, landing on the guard behind the pillar. My knee crashed into the base of his neck, snapping his spine with a crack that echoed like a gunshot. He collapsed under me, twitching, body gone slack.

The last guard spun toward the noise, rifle snapping up. I hurled the knife end over end. The blade buried itself in his mouth, driving through teeth and tongue before lodging in the back of his throat.

He staggered, gagging, weapon clattering away. I was on him before he could fall, ripping the knife free in an explosion of blood and shredded flesh. His scream was more gargle than voice, crimson pouring down his chest.

I grabbed the back of his skull and drove his face into the concrete wall. Once. Twice. The third impact split his forehead open like rotten fruit. Bone fragments stuck to the wall, a red-black smear sliding downward as his body went limp.

Silence.

Bodies cooling in pools of blood. One rooftop sniper with his eye blown out. The air stank of gunpowder, copper, and death.

I stood among it all, the AK heavy in my hands, heart hammering.

ARIA's voice cut through the stillness in my ear: "Compound perimeter secure. No hostiles remain."

But my body knew better. The first fight was over. The war inside me had only just begun.

I stood on the roof, bathed in the harsh glare of the compound's floodlights, looking down at the chaos I'd carved into the earth.

Dead and unmoving bodies lay scattered across the facility like discarded mannequins, each broken in some obscene way. A skull caved in against concrete. A throat opened into a ragged smile. Blood fanned across walls and pavement, pooling into slick black mirrors that caught the light and threw it back at me.

The entire engagement had lasted four minutes. Four minutes of blur and instinct, of reflexes and downloaded training taking over. Four minutes to end ten human lives.

And for what?

The compound was silent now; its defenders reduced to meat cooling on concrete. No alert screams. No muffled cries. Just corpses and silence.

The adrenaline drained out of me in a sick rush. My legs trembled, hands shaking as I realized just how close I'd come. The jacket was a miracle of engineering—kinetic absorption spreading impacts like water rippling across stone. Without it, half the bullets would've torn through me. Without it, I'd be cooling beside the men I'd killed.

Instead, I was alive. They weren't.

I breathed deep, trying not to gag on the mingled reek of cordite, blood, and piss. Death always smelled the same—metallic, sour, final. I only read it in novels and watch in movies, heck my last movie with Emma was an actions one, now here i was living in that reality while she was home. Hopefully she's okay and satisfied.

I tightened my grip on the blood-slick AK, staring out toward the horizon.

Time to finish what I'd started.