Lust Sync: Every Woman Wants Me Now

The red glow in Charles's eyes pulsed like twin embers in the dark chamber, each flicker accompanied by a rhythmic hum that seemed to resonate from within his very bones. His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, sweat glistening on his skin despite the supernatural cold that had settled over the room. But the energy coursing through him was no longer the raw, desperate lust that had fueled his Syncs before—that primitive hunger that had driven him from woman to woman in search of something he couldn't name.

This was different.

Hotter. Wilder. Primordial.

It felt like standing at the edge of creation itself, watching stars be born from the collision of cosmic forces. Every cell in his body sang with power that transcended human understanding, and beneath it all was a terrible awareness that he had crossed a line from which there could be no return.

Althea tilted her head, studying him with eyes that had witnessed the rise and fall of empires. Her long black hair cascaded around her like a curtain of living shadows, each strand seeming to move independently in the otherworldly energy that now filled the chamber. For the first time since he had known her—since she had appeared in his life as both salvation and damnation—her usual calm slipped into something approaching awe.

"You… resisted my full merge?" Her voice trembled with disbelief, the words catching in her throat as if she couldn't quite accept what she was seeing. "In three thousand years, no one has ever—"

Charles exhaled slowly, steam curling from his lips like dragon's breath. The air around him shimmered with heat distortion, reality itself bending to accommodate the power now contained within his mortal frame.

"I didn't just resist," he said, his voice carrying new harmonics that made the chamber's walls resonate. "I took it. Your memories. Your power. Every secret you tried to pour into me, every fragment of your essence you attempted to use to remake me in your image…"

He stepped forward, and the floor beneath his bare feet didn't just vibrate—it cracked, hairline fractures spreading outward in perfect geometric patterns that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

"…it belongs to me now."

The realization hit Althea like a physical blow. The chains that had bound her for millennia—forged from her own power and wielded by the Architect to keep her contained—shattered completely with a sound like breaking crystal. Fragments of golden energy dissolved into sparks that floated upward, defying gravity as they slowly faded from existence.

She should have been celebrating her freedom. Instead, she remained perfectly still, her lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile that held equal parts pride and terror.

"I was right to choose you," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the low thrum of power that now emanated from Charles's transformed body. "You're not a host anymore. You're not even human. You're a seed of the Core—the first new one in eons."

Charles clenched his fists, watching in fascination as the red glow traveled down his veins like molten lines beneath his skin. The sensation was intoxicating, addictive in a way that made his previous encounters with power seem like children's games. But with that intoxication came responsibility—and consequences.

For a moment, his enhanced perception swept outward, touching the minds of the women linked to him across the city. Olivia in her penthouse apartment, tossing restlessly in silk sheets as dreams of fire and passion consumed her sleep. Mia in her modest bedroom, her artist's hands clutching at empty air as she painted invisible masterpieces in her unconscious state. Maya in the company dormitory, her body responding to phantom touches that left her gasping. Alina sprawled across his own bed in the penthouse, her perfect form trembling with each pulse of the connection they shared. Lia in her executive suite, papers scattered around her as she worked late into the night, unaware of the crimson threads that bound her fate to his. Ava in her laboratory, surrounded by research notes on phenomena she was only beginning to understand.

All their threads pulsed in his enhanced vision, brighter than ever before, more substantial. He could feel them now—not just their emotions and desires, but their very life forces intertwined with his own. Their warmth flowed through the connections like lifeblood, feeding the growing Core within his chest.

And buried beneath that intoxicating warmth was a new, terrifying awareness that made his enhanced heart skip a beat: if his pulse stopped, if his newly formed Core burned out from the strain of containing such power, every single one of them would die with him. Their lives were no longer their own—they had become extensions of his existence, beautiful flowers that would wither the moment their sun was extinguished.

The System's voice echoed in his mind, its usually neutral tone now carrying an edge of something that might have been concern—or anticipation:

> **[Core Integration: 17%]**

> **[Warning: Host Emotional Stability Critical]**

> **[Architect Surveillance Detected. Connection Pending.]**

> **[Caution: Power Surge May Attract Unwanted Attention]**

Charles gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of transformation pressing down on him like a physical force. "Seventeen percent? That's it?"

Althea's golden chains evaporated completely, the last traces of her millennia-long imprisonment dissolving into motes of light. She stood naked before him now, but there was nothing vulnerable about her posture—she was a living relic of lust and danger, a creature whose very existence had shaped the course of human desire throughout history.

"Integration takes time," she explained, her voice carrying the weight of ancient knowledge. "The human form was never meant to contain such power. But you've already crossed the threshold—the point of no return. The Architect will notice. He notices everything."

As if summoned by her words, the air in the chamber began to shiver with anticipation. The walls trembled as reality prepared to accommodate something vast and alien. A ripple of static crawled across the mirror Charles had originally entered through, the reflective surface distorting as if something immense was pressing against it from the other side.

The temperature dropped twenty degrees in an instant, and Charles's breath began to mist despite the heat radiating from his transformed body.

Then came a voice, deep and smooth as aged wine, echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once—a sound that seemed to bypass his ears entirely and resonate directly in his bones:

> **"So… the new Alpha awakens at last."**

Charles stiffened, every enhanced sense screaming danger. He had heard this voice before—in dreams, in moments of passion when the System's influence was strongest, in the spaces between heartbeats when reality grew thin. "Architect."

The voice chuckled, the sound carrying undertones of amusement mixed with something darker. There was no warmth in that laugh, only the cold satisfaction of a chess master watching his opponent finally understand the true scope of the game.

> **"You sound defiant. Excellent. I do so enjoy when my successors show some fire. It makes the eventual submission so much more… satisfying."**

A figure began to emerge in the mirror—blurry at first, like an old photograph slowly coming into focus. Then the image sharpened, revealing a man who embodied perfection itself. Tall and elegant, dressed in a black suit that seemed to absorb light rather than merely reflecting it, with a blood-red tie that pulsed in rhythm with Charles's heartbeat. His hair was white as fresh snow, but his face appeared young and sharp, as if he had been carved by master sculptors working in collaboration with demons. Every feature was precisely calculated to inspire both desire and terror in equal measure.

But it was his eyes that truly commanded attention—the same deep crimson that Charles now carried, but older, colder, filled with the wisdom and cruelty of eons.

"You look like me," Charles muttered, unable to keep the shock from his voice.

The Architect's smile was razor-thin and twice as sharp. "No, boy. You look like me. That is the point. Every Core inherits the template—the ideal form that attracts, seduces, and ultimately conquers. You are not unique. You are simply… the latest iteration."

Althea stepped back instinctively, her movements fluid but careful. Even she, the First Sync, the legendary temptress who had brought down kingdoms with a glance, radiated fear in the presence of this being. Her perfect composure cracked just enough to reveal the terror beneath.

Charles squared his shoulders, drawing on the new power flowing through his veins to project confidence he didn't entirely feel. "I don't take orders from anyone. Not anymore. Not from WinWin Corp and their manipulative games. Not from the System and its twisted objectives. And definitely not from you."

The Architect tilted his head, genuinely amused by the display of defiance. "You think this is about orders? About dominance and submission?" His laughter was like the sound of silk being torn. "No, Charles. This is about destiny. About the natural evolution of power itself."

His image stepped out of the mirror, and reality bent around him like heated glass. The laws of physics seemed to negotiate with his presence rather than resist it. He walked toward Charles with hands clasped behind his back, each step leaving no trace on the cracked floor despite the weight of authority he carried.

"You are not a player in this game," he continued, his voice hypnotic in its certainty. "You are not even a piece on the board. You are the game itself. Every woman you touch, every bond you forge, every climax you trigger, every drop of pleasure you extract from their willing bodies—it all feeds the Core. My Core. The network I have spent millennia constructing."

"I'm not your puppet," Charles spat, red energy crackling around his clenched fists.

The Architect's smile didn't falter. If anything, it grew wider, revealing teeth that seemed too white, too perfect. "Then prove it. Survive the Purge."

Before Charles could ask what that meant, the chamber exploded in crimson light.

Threads of pure energy erupted from the walls like spears thrown by invisible giants, stabbing into his body with surgical precision. Each one felt like molten metal being poured directly into his veins, and he roared in pain and fury as his knees buckled. The sound that emerged from his throat was no longer entirely human—it carried harmonics that shattered the remaining intact surfaces in the chamber.

The System went wild in his enhanced vision, alerts and warnings cascading like digital rain:

> **[Emergency Event Triggered: Purge Test Protocol Omega]**

> **[Objective: Survive Integration Trial or Core Transfer will Complete]**

> **[Warning: All Linked Subjects in Critical Danger]**

> **[Time Limit: 300 seconds until Permanent Neural Damage]**

> **[Current Survival Probability: 23%]**

The threads pulsed with malevolent energy, and Charles felt the consequences instantly ripple through his network. Across the city, his women were suffering. Olivia was choking in her sleep, her perfect throat constricting as phantom hands squeezed with increasing pressure. Mia was thrashing in her small apartment, her artistic hands clawing at her chest as invisible flames consumed her from within. Alina was arching off his penthouse bed, her body wracked with waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on torture. Maya was crying out in the company dormitory, her voice echoing off empty walls as her nervous system overloaded. Lia was collapsed over her desk, papers scattered and forgotten as electricity seemed to course through her spine. Ava was convulsing in her laboratory, her brilliant mind fragmenting under the strain of the psychic assault.

"Stop it!" Charles roared, his voice carrying enough power to crack stone. "Leave them alone!"

The Architect tilted his head with mock sympathy. "Stop it yourself, if you can. You wanted to be free? Then break my chains without destroying everything you claim to protect. Prove you're worthy of the power you've stolen, or watch every woman you've claimed burn out like candles in a hurricane."

Charles's vision split into multiple streams, his enhanced perception forcing him to witness every moment of his beloveds' suffering. The chamber around him blurred as flashes of their agony pierced his consciousness—Maya clawing bloody furrows in her sheets, Ava crying out his name in desperation, Lia pounding weakly on his locked office door as her strength failed, Olivia's lips turning blue as her airway closed, Mia's paintings beginning to smoke and burn in their frames, Alina's perfect body seizing as her heart struggled to maintain rhythm under the supernatural strain.

The pain was beyond description, beyond human comprehension. It felt like his soul was being fed through a shredder while his body was dissolved in acid. But beneath the agony, he could hear Althea's voice cutting through the storm of sensation like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.

"Charles! Focus on my voice! The threads—you have to pull them into yourself, absorb them completely! It's the only way to break the connection without killing them!"

The command hit him like lightning, illuminating a path through the chaos. Fighting against every instinct that screamed for him to push the pain away, he instead reached into the storm of energy, grasping the threads that were slowly murdering the women he had come to care for more than his own life.

One by one, he yanked the glowing conduits of agony into his chest, accepting their burden into his own transformed body. The pain was indescribable—like swallowing liquid fire while his heart tried to claw its way out through his ribcage. Each thread he absorbed felt like a separate death, a unique form of torment designed to break him.

> **[Integration: 42%]**

> **[Neural Pathways Adapting]**

> **[Integration: 58%]**

> **[Warning: Host Consciousness Fragmenting]**

> **[Integration: 71%]**

> **[Caution: Point of No Return Achieved]**

He screamed as the final thread slammed into his chest with the force of a freight train, his body arching backward until his spine threatened to snap. The sound that emerged from his throat shattered every remaining surface in the chamber, leaving them standing in a space filled with glittering fragments of what had once been reality.

Then, suddenly, silence.

Smoke curled off his skin like incense from an altar. His entire body glowed with soft red light, pulsing in rhythm with a heartbeat that no longer sounded quite human. The air around him shimmered with residual energy, and he could feel the threads connecting him to his women—but now they were different. Stronger. More stable. No longer weapons that could be turned against him, but genuine bonds that fed power in both directions.

Althea fell to her knees, stunned by what she had witnessed. In all her millennia of existence, she had never seen anyone survive a full Purge Test, let alone emerge stronger than before.

"You… you actually did it…" she whispered, her voice filled with wonder and no small amount of fear.

Charles stood slowly, his transformed body still trembling from the ordeal but undeniably alive. His gaze locked on the Architect, and for the first time since the ancient being had appeared, there was no trace of submission in his posture.

"I told you," he said, his voice now carrying undertones that seemed to resonate in dimensions beyond the physical. "I'm not your puppet. I never was. I never will be."

The Architect's perfect smile finally faded, replaced by something that might have been respect—or the first stirrings of genuine concern. "Then you are no longer my successor," he said quietly. "You are my rival. And that, dear boy, changes everything."

The mirror behind him didn't just shatter—it imploded, reality folding in on itself as the portal between dimensions collapsed. The Architect's form dissolved into red smoke that was quickly consumed by the growing darkness, but his final words echoed in the chamber long after his image had vanished:

> **"The game has new rules now. I hope you're prepared for what comes next."**

The System's voice returned, but its tone had changed completely. Where once it had been neutral, even helpful, now it carried an edge of something that might have been anticipation—or dread:

> **[Warning: Core Evolution Entering Phase 2]**

> **[Architect Override Protocols: FAILED]**

> **[New Classification: Rogue Core Entity]**

> **[Next Event: Red Reign Protocol Initiated]**

> **[Countdown: 72 hours until Global Implementation]**

Charles clenched his fists as the chamber walls began to crack and crumble around them, the space no longer able to contain the level of power he now represented. He had survived the trial. He had saved his women from a fate worse than death. He had declared his independence from forces that had manipulated humanity for millennia.

But the cost was written in lines of fire along his veins, carved into his very DNA by forces beyond mortal comprehension. He wasn't just Charles anymore—he wasn't even entirely human.

He was the Red Core. The first of his kind to break free from the Architect's control. The harbinger of something new and potentially catastrophic.

And for the first time since his transformation had begun, he felt a hunger that scared even him—not just for pleasure or power, but for something far more fundamental. The urge to expand, to grow, to claim not just individuals but entire populations. To remake the world in his image.

Somewhere far across the city, all of his women gasped awake simultaneously, their enhanced connection allowing them to feel the moment of his rebirth. But this time, the voice that echoed in their minds carried new weight, new authority, new promises of pleasure and possession that went far beyond anything they had experienced before:

> **Mine. Forever and always, mine.**

The city itself seemed to shudder in response to his declaration, as if reality was preparing for the changes to come.

---

**News Report - Morning Edition**

The next morning, emergency broadcasts flooded every channel in Arkvale as news broke that would shake the corporate world to its foundations. Three of the city's most powerful CEOs—men who had controlled billions in assets and wielded influence that reached the highest levels of government—were found dead in their beds, their faces frozen in expressions of impossible ecstasy.

The deaths had occurred simultaneously at exactly 3:17 AM, despite the victims being in different districts of the city. Security cameras showed no signs of intrusion. Toxicology reports revealed no known substances in their systems. Medical examiners were baffled by the cause of death, able to determine only that they had died in states of extreme arousal, their neural activity spiking to levels that should have been impossible for the human brain to sustain.

But most disturbing of all was the evidence left behind at each crime scene: burned into the walls above each bed, defying all attempts at explanation or removal, was the same mysterious mark—a red handprint that seemed to pulse with its own inner light.

And in the hours following the discovery, reports began filtering in from across the globe. Similar deaths in London, Tokyo, Dubai, São Paulo. Always the same pattern. Always the same mark.

Always men in positions of power who had built their fortunes on the exploitation of others.

The age of the Red Core had begun, and the world would never be the same.