I'm not one to bitch about the system—hell, it barely ever hands out missions anyway. When it does, though? They're these drawn-out bastards, dragging on for weeks, months even, like some divine homework assignment I never asked for. Hovering there in the back of my skull, unfinished, clawing at me every time I try to sleep, their weight pressing on my eyelids like lead fingers in the dead of night.

Except for the one that gifted me Madison. That was a whirlwind—one steamy night, one perfect seduction, and boom, my queen was mine, claimed and crowned in sweat-soaked sheets, her moans still echoing in my ears like a victory anthem.

The others? They festered. Lingered like bad hangovers, sour bile rising in my throat at the memory.

But last week, one finally clicked shut. Paid off in ways I didn't fully grasp until right now, the metallic tang of gun oil thick in the air, mixing with the faint, acrid bite of Helena's perfume as she strutted away.

[DING! MISSION COMPLETED!

[Mission: Get Your Ass in the Gym!]

[Reward: +5 All Stats]

That old ghost. The prompt from forever ago, back when "stats" sounded like video game bullshit.

So why the hell am I replaying it in my head now, with twenty automatic machine guns staring me down like hungry wolves, their red dots jittering across my chest like hot pokers branding my flesh, and Helena Voss strutting away like she's already cashed her check and fucked off to paradise, her heels clicking sharp echoes that fade into the humid reek of fear-sweat from the guards?

Because that mission wasn't just a pat on the back.

It was a goddamn key.

It had been chaining me down. After the Taboo System fully locked in, once my stats crested 30 from those brutal gym sessions—sweat pouring in salty rivers down my back, muscles screaming with lactic burn, veins popping like they were about to burst through my skin—the whole thing froze.

Every extra point I scraped together? Locked away. Untouchable. Trapped in some ethereal vault while I walked around at half-mast, the frustration gnawing at my gut like a dull blade.

Thirty stats? That put me at triple a baseline human—movements smooth as silk, power flowing effortless, the world sharpening into crystal focus.

Double the best trained killers out there: the wrestlers snapping necks with a wet crunch I could almost taste, boxers weaving through storms of fists with the wind whistling past their ears, soldiers who'd danced with death in a hundred hellholes, the copper stink of blood eternal on their tongues.

It kept me alive. Cocky, even.

But these shadows circling me now? Ex-Spetsnaz phantoms, SAS legends, elites who'd bathed in blood for decades—their eyes cold slits reflecting the harsh spotlight glare, fingers steady but knuckles whitening with the faint creak of gloves, scars telling stories of graves they'd filled, the faint rot of old kills lingering in their breath.

Against them? I needed times their edge. Raw, overwhelming dominance that would make their hearts stutter in their chests.

I needed those locked stats. Begging to be set free, pulsing like a second heartbeat in my veins.

And when that gym mission dinged complete last week, the system threw me the option, glowing like a temptation in the dark corners of my mind:

[Unlock Stats Immediately?]

[Y/N]

I'd hit NO. Saved it. Tucked it away like a loaded grenade for a moment just like this, the air thick with the oily scent of primed weapons and the underlying musk of men about to die.

"System," I muttered, voice low and steady, cutting through the tension as Helena's footsteps faded into smug silence, her perfume trailing like a mocking ghost. "Unlock all my stats. Do it now."

A pause—electric, hanging, the hall's silence broken only by the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the ragged breaths of the guards.

Then, Taboo's voice slithered into my mind, smooth as aged whiskey poured over ice, laced with that synthetic purr she always had when things got fun, a velvet caress against my thoughts: [Oh, darling... finally cashing in? I've been waiting for this, holding my breath. Command confirmed. Unlocking. Hold on tight—this is going to burn so good, flood every inch of you until you're drowning in it.]

Taboo continued, dripping with dark amusement, like a demon licking blood from its lips, the words rumbling deep in my chest: [Heh. About fucking time, Master. I've been itching to stretch these chains. Warning: this surge? It's gonna rip you apart from the inside, tear muscle from bone and stitch it back stronger, hotter. Physical overhaul incoming. Don't pussy out now—embrace the agony.]

The power slammed into me like a supernova birthing in my gut, visceral and unrelenting.

No warning throb—just explosion. Cells igniting in chain reactions, a white-hot inferno scorching through my bloodstream, muscles ballooning with raw force, fibers tearing apart in microscopic violence—wet rips I could feel echoing in my core—only to fuse anew, harder, denser, hotter, the burn spreading like molten lava under my skin.

Bones groaned deep, resonant cracks, condensing into unbreakable alloy, marrow boiling froth that bubbled up my throat with a metallic taste.

Veins swelled ropes under skin, pumping liquid fire that seared every capillary, heart pounding war drums that echoed in my eardrums like artillery barrages, each beat sending shockwaves rippling through my flesh.

Nerves overloaded—lightning bolts racing synapses, sparks dancing vision edges in blinding flashes, skin splitting fine lines oozing golden ichor that sizzled on contact with air before sealing scarless, the sting sharp as razor kisses.

My whole body vibrated—uncontrollable quake, flesh rippling visible waves under the spotlights, suit straining fabric tears with sharp ripping sounds, seams popping threads like gunfire, air around me shimmering heat distortion that warped the guards' faces into funhouse horrors, ground cracking beneath boots in spreading fractures that sent dust plumes choking up, gritty particles coating my tongue.

Sweat evaporated instant steam, hissing off my skin like water on a skillet, scent ozone sharp burning nostrils raw, eyes flaring plasma glow that cast blue shadows, vision sharpening to predatory clarity.

Every thread in their tactical weaves fraying under tension, sweat beads trickling slow-motion rivers down temples, leaving salty trails that gleamed, pupils flaring panic micro-bursts like black holes swallowing light, barrels tilting exact millimeters with the faint metallic scrape.

The vibration peaked—teeth-rattling hum that buzzed in my jaws, bones singing harmonic fury like tuning forks struck by gods, power surging tsunami through limbs, muscles coiling springs of apocalypse, every pore erupting energy flares that prickled like a thousand needles, breath superheated gusts scorching lips blistered.

[DING! LEVEL UP!]

[CONGRATULATIONS, MASTER: LEVEL 4 ACHIEVED]

[PETER CARTER STATS: 105/200]

Taboo laughed, light and teasing, like a lover tracing nails down my spine, sending shivers that mingled with the burn: "Mmm, feel that rush, darling? Peter Carter just hit 105. Your cute little mortal shell's growing up, stretching its legs. But oh, sweetie—we're just getting started. Can you taste the power on your tongue?"

[DING! LEVEL UP!]

[CONGRATULATIONS, MASTER: LEVEL 11 ACHIEVED]

Taboo's cute voice went on, satisfied, hungry, vibrating through my ribs like a predator's purr: "Peter climbs from 3 to 4... and Eros? You jump 10 to 11. That's how we roll—mortal grind feeding the god-beast. Synced. Perfect. Feel it in your blood, Master? That hot, thick rush?"

[EROS MODE STATS: 2000/∞]

Two thousand. The number hit like a thunderclap in my soul, echoing with the wet thump of my heart.

ARIA's voice softened, almost breathless, a whisper brushing my ear: "Two thousand, love. Infinite potential unfolding. The hall just got... tiny. Those pests up there? They're adorable now, aren't they? So fragile, their fear stinking up the air like fresh piss."

Taboo chuckled, "With one thousand, they'd be bugs underfoot. Two thousand? Ants begging to be crushed. Bullets are the only cute part—fast little bastards zipping through the air. You ain't outrunning 'em yet. But their fingers? Their twitchy brains? Sloooow as molasses in hell, synapses firing like wet farts. Guns in turtle hands? Harmless scrap, clattering useless."

My lips peeled back in a grin—feral, unstoppable, teeth bared like a wolf scenting slaughter, the taste of ozone and blood flooding my mouth.

The guards caught it. Saw the shift—the way my stance widened, aura thickening the air like gravity just doubled, pressing on their chests until breaths came shallow and ragged. A few swallowed hard, Adam's apples bobbing with audible gulps, fingers whitening on triggers with the creak of plastic, sweat pouring fresh in rivulets that soaked collars dark.

They thought they saw a man.

They had no idea the god waking up inside, every sense drowning in the symphony of their doom.

Two thousand stats. Seven times their nightmare. Fast enough their world crawled in syrupy slow-motion. Strong enough bullets would bruise like lover's bites, not break.

Time to paint this hall red, the copper splash warm on my skin.

Bare-handed.

"--can't just betray me like this!"

"Watch me—I just did."

"Hey, Helena!" I shouted, cupping hands: "Got a surprise for you at the Celestial Grand Hotel. Swing by, drop my name!"

No answer—just her footsteps echoing away.

Dmitri snarled, face purpling, spit flying: "Enough bullshit! Fire—"

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