Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 673

Chapter 673: Taking It All

They loaded every plate they had left. The bar looked comical now, concrete stacked thick on both sides, the steel bowing like a drawn bowstring under the pressure.

I approached it. The crowd had gone quiet again, just watching, breathing heavy in the humid air.

I grabbed the bar. The weight was substantial now. Real. I could feel it in my hands, my core, my legs. This was the kind of load that demanded everything.

I set my feet. Took a deep breath. Pulled.

The bar came off the ground. Slow. Grinding. The steel bent like it was trying to snap. I locked it out at the top, held it for five full seconds while the crowd lost their minds—screams, cheers, phones flashing like strobe lights. Then I dropped it.

The crash echoed across the beach like a thunderclap.

"HOLY SHIT!" Dex was jumping, screaming, fists pumping the air. "SIX-FIFTEEN! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Jaxon stood frozen, staring at the bar, then at me, then back at the bar. "That’s... that’s not human."

Melissa pressed against my side, breathing hard, eyes wide. "You’re not real. You can’t be real."

"One more exercise," I said. "Bench press."

They dragged everything over to the bench press station. Colt went first. Started at one-eighty-five. Worked his way up. Maxed out at two-seventy-five. Respectable. He was breathing hard, chest pumped, arms shaking, skin flushed from the effort.

Jaxon pushed two-seventy-five like it was nothing. Hit three-fifteen with some struggle. Three-sixty-five he needed a spotter, got it up barely. Failed at four-oh-five.

"Three-sixty-five!" Dex called. "Eros!"

I lay down on the bench. The concrete was warm against my back, gritty with sand. Someone had loaded two-twenty-five: matching Colt’s starting weight.

I pressed it. Twenty reps. Fast. Like it was just the bar. Chest exploding outward, veins like rivers snaking across my pecs and shoulders.

"More weight."

They loaded two-seventy-five. I pressed it. Fifteen reps. Smooth.

"More."

Three-fifteen. Ten reps. Starting to feel it in my chest, triceps screaming.

"More."

Three-sixty-five. Six reps. Real weight now. My pecs burned, veins like lightning bolts.

"More."

Four-fifteen. They loaded it, faces skeptical. This was beyond what most people their size could move.

I pressed it. Three reps. Solid. Controlled. Brought the bar down to my chest, paused for a heartbeat, then pressed it back up. Three times.

The crowd was chanting my name now. "EROS! EROS! EROS!"

"More."

"Dude," Colt said, voice hoarse. "There’s no more weight. We used everything on the deadlift."

I looked at Dex. "How much do you weigh?"

He blinked. "What?"

"How much do you weigh?"

"One-ninety. Why?"

"Get on the bar."

The crowd lost it. Screams ripped through the air, wild laughter exploding alongside the rapid-fire flashes of phone cameras. Girls gasped in raw awe, hands clutching at each other in disbelief.

Dex’s eyes went wide, pupils blown. "You’re fucking insane."

"Get on the bar."

He paused for a heartbeat, then climbed up carefully, straddling the loaded bar, gripping the steel tight to steady himself. The bar bowed visibly under the combined weight: four-fifteen from the plates plus his one-ninety.

Over six hundred pounds total. The steel flexed under the load, groaning faintly.

I stepped up, wrapped my hands around the bar on either side of him. Set my grip. Took a deep breath, chest expanding massively, abs tightening into sharp, carved ridges.

I pressed.

The bar rose like it weighed nothing. Effortless. Smooth. Every muscle in my chest, shoulders, and triceps fired in perfect harmony, veins pulsing thick and prominent across my pecs and arms. With my 2000+ stats, the weight offered no resistance—my body moved it as easily as if the bar were empty.

I locked it out at the top—elbows straight, chest fully expanded, shoulders rounded forward in absolute control.

One rep.

Down again. Up.

"Get down," I said.

"PARTY!" Dex screamed, voice cracking with adrenaline. "MY MANSION! NOW! BEACH KING GETS FIRST DRINK, FIRST EVERYTHING!"

And in my head, ARIA whispered: Show-off.

****

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