Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 672

Chapter 672: Iron God

Muscle Beach wasn’t much: just a raw strip of sand scarred by decades of salt and sweat. Rusted pull-up bars flaking blood-red in the dying sun, dip stations groaning like old bones, a bench press rack loaded with concrete plates spray-painted in ghost-white numbers, and a deadlift platform that was nothing more than a warped wooden pallet hammered together by some long-dead bro who’d prayed it would hold.

But it was enough.

The crowd had exploded to four hundred, maybe five. Phones glowed like a swarm of fireflies, live-streaming every rep, every bead of sweat, every muscle straining under soaked tank tops and bikinis.

The sun kissed the horizon, bleeding the sky orange, purple, crimson, painting every pumped vein, every stretched thong in vivid color. Shadows stretched long and dramatic across the sand, reaching like fingers toward the iron.

Dex vaulted onto the dip station, arms spread like a ringmaster in a circus of raw power.

"ALRIGHT! Round two! Four exercises: pull-ups, dips, deadlift, bench press!" He stabbed a finger at each station, voice booming with intensity. "Most reps wins pull-ups and dips. Heaviest weight wins deadlift and bench. Three out of four takes it!"

The crowd roared: a primal wave that surged through the air, charged with adrenaline and anticipation.

Colt and his crew were already stretching: veins popping, muscles pumped, shorts clinging tight from the surf-high energy still burning in their systems. They looked confident: this was their temple, iron their god, sweat their sacrament.

I stood there, arms loose, wet pants clinging as I watched.

Jaxon caught my eye, grinned like a wolf scenting blood. "Ready to lose, boy?"

"We’ll see," I said.

"Pull-ups first!" Dex shouted. "Thirty seconds! Most reps! Colt: you’re up!"

Colt leapt, grabbed the bar: rust biting into palms. Started pulling. Clean, full extension, chin clearing every time. The crowd counted, voices hoarse with excitement.

"One! Two! Three!... Twenty-three!"

He dropped, forearms swollen, chest heaving, skin flushed from the burn.

"Twenty-three!" Dex announced. "Jaxon!"

Jaxon: bigger, heavier: grabbed the bar and grinded. Each rep slower, uglier, veins bursting across his traps. Hit twenty before his lats gave out, dropped with a growl.

Ryder eighteen. Shane sixteen. Ky nineteen.

"Eros!" Dex called, voice trembling with anticipation. "Your turn!"

I stepped to the bar. Metal scalding from the sun, rough with rust tearing skin. Jumped, hung for half a heartbeat: weight settling, shoulders stretching.

Then I moved.

Fast. Smooth. No pause. Just continuous, mechanical, perfect. Lats flaring like wings, biceps peaking, veins roping across forearms, abs carved deep with every pull.

The count hit ten in three seconds. Twenty in six. Thirty in nine.

Colt’s mouth hung open. Jaxon had stopped stretching, just staring.

"Forty! Forty-five! Fifty!"

My shoulders screamed, but it was distant: background noise. Lactic acid flooded, but I ignored it.

"Sixty! Sixty-two! Sixty-three!"

The timer beeped.

I dropped: light, easy, not even breathing hard.

The beach went dead silent.

Then detonated.

"SIXTY-THREE!" Dex screamed, voice shattering. "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!"

Melissa lunged forward, nails raking my arm deep enough to draw thin lines of blood. "How is that even possible?" Her chest heaved with every breath, pressing close against me. Amber was on my other side, hand sliding down my abs, fingers tracing the ridges before pulling back with a grin.

"Dips!" Dex announced, voice shaking. "Same rules! Colt!"

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