Lust System: Conquering the World Beauties

Snow crunched beneath heavy boots. The wind whistled through the narrow corridor of the compound’s inner courtyard.

One of the guards, scar-faced, a stitched gash down his jaw—snapped his head up.

He heard something.

A soft step.

Not rushed.

Just... deliberate.

A shadow approached from the far corridor that led in from the front. Calm. Unbothered. A man.

No—too young to be called a man in their world. Probably in his early twenties. A black scarf covered the lower half of his face, and a black cap hid the rest. He looked like he’d just walked off a subway station, not into a death zone.

The scarred guard narrowed his eyes and barked, "Hey! Stop right there!"

But the figure didn’t stop.

He kept walking.

Another man—thick arms, tattoos crawling across his neck—stood up from a low wall where he’d been sitting. His mouth curled into an irritated snarl. "Oi, you deaf or just stupid? You know where the fuck you steppin’, kid?"

Still, no reaction.

He didn’t understand what they were saying anyway.

Just calm steps on the snow.

Unshaken.

Unhurried.

The group of men glanced at each other. Some leaned forward, sensing entertainment. Others straightened up. No one walked in here alone unless they had a death wish—or unless they were already dead inside.

One of them stepped forward.

He was Massive.

He looked like a bear in human skin—towering at nearly seven feet, muscles packed into every inch of his frame like steel under concrete. His beard was thick, unkempt, his breath steaming as he moved, and his boots cracked the snow like stone on glass.

Liam came to a halt as the behemoth stepped in his way.

Even at 6’2", Liam looked like a teenager beside him. From the guards’ angle, it looked like a child had wandered into a ring with a monster.

The giant squinted. "You got a death wish, runt?"

He reached out with a thick hand, aiming to grab Liam’s shirt, to lift him up, crush him, throw him back out like trash.

But Liam’s hand moved first.

Smack!

He slapped the man’s hand away like it was nothing.

The movement was smooth. Too fast for most of them to fully register. But the sound—the clean, echoing thwack—hit all their ears at once.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then laughter.

The six others behind the giant burst into hoarse, mocking laughs. One of them slapped his knee. Another doubled over. "Did that little shit just—just slap Brogan’s hand?! Oh my fucking God—"

"Is this kid suicidal?"

"Someone record this shit!"

Brogan—the giant—wasn’t laughing.

His face turned red. A vein pulsed on the side of his temple. His fist clenched so hard his knuckles popped.

"You think this is funny?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Then he roared.

The punch he threw wasn’t just a hit—it was a goddamn meteor.

Everything in that courtyard seemed to pause as his fist tore through the air. It came from high, powered by shoulders like granite and the full weight of a man used to breaking ribs for fun.

The six guards straightened up. Eyebrows raised.

They knew Brogan’s strength. They’d seen what that punch did to men—hell, one of them had seen it crack a skull like an egg once.

That kid was done.

But then—

Liam moved.

He didn’t dodge.

He didn’t flinch.

He just threw a punch of his own.

His arm cocked back, his knuckles tightening, and then—

BANG!!

CRACK!!

The courtyard echoed with violence.

Liam was pushed back a step. Just one. His boots slid slightly in the snow, stopping with barely a stagger.

The six guards leaned forward, nodding.

"Called it."

"He’s probably unconscious—"

But then they heard it.

Not from Liam.

From Brogan.

A wince. A sharp, high-pitched breath escaping clenched teeth.

And that’s when they all really looked.

Their laughter died instantly.

Brogan was still standing—but shaking. His face had twisted in pain. And then—

One of them gasped.

"...His hand."

It was ruined.

Completely shattered.

Bone jutted out from the skin, white shards pushing through blood and muscle like snapped wood through wet paper. His fingers hung twisted, useless, already swelling. The flesh around his knuckles had torn open.

He was cradling the limb now, breathing fast, eyes wide in disbelief.

Liam?

He stood still.

Composed.

There wasn’t a single mark on him. Not even a bruise. He didn’t even shake his fist out.

The courtyard fell into silence again.

Then the realization set in.

That wasn’t luck.

That wasn’t a freak accident.

That was power.

Controlled. Intentional. Deadly.

The men all stood now. No more jokes. No more smiles. Their eyes locked on Liam like wolves realizing they’d poked a bear.

Liam tilted his head slightly, his eyes calm, almost bored as he looked at Brogan still cradling his hand.

Under his scarf, he smiled.

"Next time," he said softly, his voice steady and cold, "try using both fists."

The silence was thick enough to choke on.

No one moved.

And Liam?

Liam didn’t waste a second.

Brogan was still standing there in shock, cradling his broken hand like it was a dead pet, when Liam launched forward. One powerful step, one flex of his thigh, and he was airborne. His boot came up, swift and brutal.

CRACK!

The kick smashed into Brogan’s thick neck with a sickening sound. The giant’s head twisted unnaturally as his massive frame lifted off the ground slightly, then crumbled to the snow like a collapsed building. He didn’t move again.

The other men shouted.

Two of them moved instantly.

They were even bigger than Brogan. One was bald with shoulders like a fridge, a scar splitting his forehead. The other had dark skin, tattoos coiled around both arms, and fists the size of Liam’s head. These weren’t street thugs—they were born fighters. Trained. Conditioned.

And furious.

Liam didn’t even have time to step back. The bald one lunged, and the second man flanked him instantly.

Boom!

A punch came flying for Liam’s ribs. He blocked with his forearm, but the sheer power behind it sent him skidding a few feet across the snow. Pain flared along his bone. The second man didn’t wait—he followed up with a knee aimed at Liam’s gut.

Liam twisted.

The knee grazed his side instead of caving in his stomach. He caught the man’s leg, pivoted, and used the momentum to spin him around, but the bald one was already there.

A punch caught Liam on the jaw.

Stars.

He stumbled.

They swarmed him like wolves, two goliaths swinging with the intent to kill.

Liam ducked a left hook, stepped in, and jabbed at the bald one’s gut.

It was like hitting a wall.

The man grunted, barely moving.

Liam cursed in his head—these bastards were tough. Tougher than he expected.

He needed to end this fast.

They came again. The tattooed one threw a flurry of punches. Liam blocked one, dodged two, but the third scraped his cheek. Blood spattered the snow.

The bald one tried to grab him from behind—Liam spun and elbowed him in the face.

Crunch!

Nose shattered. Blood poured. But the man didn’t go down. He just roared louder.

Liam jumped, kicked off the wall, and brought his heel down on the man’s shoulder.

He dropped to one knee.

That was one opening.

Liam spun, fists flying, targeting the tattooed one. He ducked low, hammering the man’s knees, and the guy grunted and stumbled.

But Liam was fast.

He leapt up, fists flashing—bang, bang, bang--three shots to the face, clean hits. Blood flew. The man’s eye swelled instantly.

A huge arm wrapped around Liam’s waist.

The bald one again.

He lifted Liam off the ground like a ragdoll and slammed him to the ground.

BOOM!