Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 651

Chapter 651: The Five: Bare-Knuckle Apocalypse

The mansion doors groaned open like rusted jaws, the sound deep and tortured as metal hinges protested. Splinters exploded outward in sharp bursts that peppered the air with wood dust, each fragment spinning and catching the light.

Smoke billowed thick and acrid from somewhere deeper inside, rolling out in gray waves that invaded our lungs, choking us with bitter gunpowder and the sweet-sick smell of seared flesh that clung to our tongues like ashy film.

Ava and I pushed through together. Our boots ground over jagged glass that crunched wetly under our soles—not just glass but mixed with pulpy bone shards that snapped like dry twigs with each step.

Blood trails oozed viscous and warm across the marble, sticking to our treads in stringy clots that stretched between boot and floor. The whole mess reeked of copper tang and pungent bile.

Deeper shadows pulsed at the far end of the foyer. Five men slithered forward, emerging through hanging dust motes that swirled in the chandelier’s fractured beams. They cracked their necks in unison—pops that reverberated in our chests like distant thunder.

Vortex led them—whirlwind colossus, former SAS myth. His skin was scarred and cratered like moon rock, evidence of wars survived. His fists clenched, knuckles cracking audible even from twenty feet away. Veins throbbed purple along his forearms—thick as ropes, pulsing hard.

Razor stood beside him—Spetsnaz razor-wire, all sinew pulled taut over muscle. His breath hissed cold through clenched teeth, visible in the smoky air. His eyes glinted frostbite blue, pale and dead inside.

Hammer took position—Delta anvil, and the musk of steroids and blood wafted from him thick and cloying. His fists were swollen raw-red, knuckles already split and bleeding.

Ghost drifted right—GIGN wisp, shadow-sweat glistening on lean muscle. His movements whispered rather than made sound, air displacement the only evidence he’d moved.

Crusher anchored left— hot breath fetid with garlic and rage. His grin split cracked lips, showing too-white teeth.

They spread in a semicircle before us, cutting off retreat. Muscles coiled visible under skin pulled tight over frames with zero body fat. They cracked joints in sequence—shoulders, elbows, wrists—popping cartilage deliberately. No weapons glinted.

Vortex stepped forward, voice rumbling gut-deep: "Guns slaughtered the fodder. Now? Skin on skin. Deal—or choke on your toys."

Ava whipped her head toward me. Her eyes went maniacal fire—pupils blown wide, swallowing the iris, nothing but black hunger. Her lips peeled back in a savage grin that stretched skin taut, looked painful.

Adrenaline surged through her visibly.

She flung her plasma rifle—the weapon clanged on marble, echo sharp. Her knives followed, spinning end over end before clattering across gore-slick floor. Her pistols too.

"Hell fucking yes," she snarled.

My grin erupted feral. The air was thick with bloodthirsty musk from all seven of us, choking fog of male aggression. Hearts of the five thudding erratic in my enhanced hearing—I tracked each individual heartbeat, matched it to its owner.

I dropped my blades—ringing steel harmonizing with Ava’s discarded knives. My weapons crashed next to hers.

Bare hands. Raw flesh. Two devouring five.

"Deal," I thundered. My voice vibrated the floorboards. "Bleed for me."

They lunged.

Vortex whirled first—literally spinning, building momentum. His fist became a tornado, knuckles whistling shrill as they cut air.

I blurred tenfold, skin prickling from wind shear as I moved faster than their eyes could track. I met him center-mass with open palm.

BAM!

The impact boomed like a cannon—actual concussive sound that flexed eardrums. Shockwave rippled through Vortex’s flesh visibly, skin undulating from impact point outward. His ribs detonated inward in a crunching cascade—I felt each one break under my palm, counted seven snaps before they fragmented.

Blood foamed hot from his mouth in crimson spray.

He catapulted backward, body arching unnatural—spine bent wrong from the force, feet lifting off ground.

He crashed into a marble column twenty feet away.

His spine shattered—multiple wet cracks as vertebrae separated, compressed, fragmented. His limbs jerked in spasms, nervous system misfiring. His gurgles bubbled with pink froth as punctured lungs tried to draw breath.

Razor and Ghost swarmed Ava simultaneously— professional coordination, two-man assault.

Razor’s chop sliced down, hand rigid as an axe. Ghost swept low at same instant, boot scraping marble with teeth-setting screech, trying to take her legs while Razor split her skull.

She cackled—manic sound echoing off marble, throat raw—and ducked the chop. Her hair whipped the air. Her thigh came up, parrying Ghost’s sweep with meat-slap thud, muscle meeting muscle.

Her counter-elbow rocketed into Razor’s nose before he recovered. Cartilage crushed mushy—not crisp but wet, collapsing, nose flattening against his face. Blood gushed hot down his chin, dripping in fat splatters.

She whirled, planted weight, sent her heel into Ghost’s jaw. Bone shattered like popcorn—multiple pops as mandible broke in three places. Teeth ejected like bloody projectiles, clattering and bouncing.

Hammer and Crusher had thundered at me from opposite flanks—ground quaking under their combined weight, probably eight hundred pounds of muscle.

My knee met his descending chest.

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