Lust System: Conquering the World Beauties

Chapter 253: Chapter 253 The Nightcrawler’s Identity

Roughly five minutes after Liam’s departure, the chaos he left behind still lingered in the air. The street outside the Crimson Hand’s base was swarming with people—residents, passersby, even shopkeepers—all frozen in shock. Most stood with their mouths covered, horrified gasps escaping their lips as they gazed at the carnage before them.

Bodies littered the ground, limbs twisted unnaturally, blood trailing in thick streams across the cracked pavement. Bullet holes riddled some corpse. To the crowd, it looked like a war zone had erupted in the middle of the city.

A sleek, black car rolled up to the perimeter with a ghostly silence, its engine barely making a sound. It moved with the precision of a hearse arriving for its final pickup. The car stopped a few feet from the chaos, and then—click.

The rear door opened.

A single, polished black boot stepped out first, followed by the flowing black robes of Boss. He moved with the ease of someone completely unfazed by the massacre, an aura of silent menace radiating from him. One eye was hidden behind a dark leather eyepatch, while the other was like a bottomless pit—unfeeling, cold, and calculating.

Two men exited behind him, each one clad in black tactical wear and carrying rifles. They stood like shadows beside him, expressionless and rigid.

Boss began walking.

The crowd instinctively parted, giving him a wide berth. No one dared speak. No one dared breathe too loudly. His boots clicked against the asphalt with eerie calmness as he stepped past the corpses of his own men without a single glance.

He walked straight into the building through the gaping hole in the wall. The air inside was even heavier—choked with the scent of gunpowder, blood, and smoke. Cracks stretched along the walls, furniture lay in pieces, and shell casings gleamed in the dim light.

And there, near the far end of the room, was what remained of the thin man.

He was a mangled mess, lying in a pool of his own blood. Bones protruded from his arm at the wrong angle, and his breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps. The effects of the Vital had long since worn off. There was no werewolf now—only a broken man who had failed.

Boss approached him slowly, not out of concern, but as if he were examining a piece of failed machinery. He crouched in front of him and gripped the front of his shredded shirt with one hand, lifting his limp body like he weighed nothing.

”I gave you the Vital,” Boss said, his voice smooth, but laced with disdain. ”And still you lost the base?”

The thin man’s head lolled weakly. Blood trickled from his lips. Boss was about to toss him aside when the man suddenly stirred.

”Nobody... touches my woman...”

Boss blinked. He tilted his head slightly.

”What did you just say?”

Another coughing fit. Then the words came again, fainter this time.

”L-Liam said... nobody touches... my woman...”

Boss stared at him for a long moment. Then a wide, amused grin slowly curled his lips.

”Hmph... so it was him.”

With no further interest, he let the man’s body drop to the ground with a wet thud. He turned, about to walk away, his robe sweeping over the blood-streaked floor—

—when something tugged at his boot.

He looked down.

The thin man, with the last ounce of strength in his body, had reached up and clutched Boss’s foot. His eyes, bloodshot and half-closed, looked up at him one final time.

”He... said hi...”

It was more than just words. It was a message. A declaration. And with that final gasp, the man’s eyes rolled back. His hand went slack. And he died.

Boss didn’t even blink. He stared at the corpse for a moment, then looked up as his two men entered the ruined base.

”Sir,” one of them said, taking in the destruction. ”He did all this alone?”

Boss nodded. ”Yes. Liam.”

The second man looked uneasy. ”Twenty of our best. Not even a full fight. He left this place looking like a storm passed through.”

Boss chuckled softly. It was a low, hollow sound.

”Exactly as I intended. He took the bait.”

Both men looked at him, confused.

”We needed him to act first,” Boss explained. ”We needed the world to see him as a loose cannon. An uncontrollable force. Now that he’s attacked Crimson’s First directly, we have all the reason we need.”

He turned toward them fully now, his tone sharpening.

”The police? They’ll hunt him like an animal. The public? They’ll fear him. And the underworld...”

He paused, grinning again.

”They’ll want his head.”

One of the men stepped forward. ”And if he keeps winning? If he keeps tearing through us like this?”

Boss looked toward the gaping hole in the wall—the same one the thin man’s body had been thrown through.

”Then we make sure he gets too many enemies to fight at once. We make him bleed from every angle. We overwhelm him. And then, when he’s finally too tired to keep standing...”

He clenched his gloved fist.

”...we finish him.”

He walked past the corpses, now indifferent even to the crowd outside. He climbed back into the black car, shutting the door with a soft thud.

”Clean this place up,” he said to his men. ”Leave enough wreckage for the authorities to panic. I want his face on every screen in the city by dawn.”

The engine hummed to life, and the car slowly vanished into the city night.

The trap had been laid. And Liam had stepped into it with both feet.

Chief Josh sat stiffly in the middle of a lavish sitting room, its walls draped in heavy crimson curtains, the floor carpeted in deep black velvet. A chandelier hung above, glowing dimly, casting long shadows across the room. The air smelled faintly of cigar smoke and expensive cologne.

Despite the comfort around him, Josh wasn’t relaxed.

He was still in uniform—his shirt crisp, his badge gleaming under the low light. But the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. His jaw was clenched, his brows furrowed as he stared straight ahead, barely blinking.

To his right, a gorgeous woman in a silk dress was pouring him a drink—something dark, expensive, and strong. To his left, another beauty with deep red lips and long, manicured nails massaged his shoulders gently, her hands gliding over his uniformed back with practiced ease.

Still, he didn’t react. Not to the drink. Not to the massage.

He didn’t even seem to notice the seductive perfume on them both. His mind was somewhere else.

He had been summoned.

By him.

Boss.

That alone was enough to knot his gut with unease.

They rarely spoke these days. Barely had any contact at all. And yet, out of nowhere, a message had come. A location. No explanation. No context. Just a command.

And Josh obeyed.

He took the glass from the woman without looking at her, swirling the drink in his hand. The ice clinked quietly. His eyes remained on the grand door ahead of him—the one he knew Boss would walk through at any moment.

The silence in the room was too heavy. Even the two women seemed to sense it, their movements slower now, more careful.

Josh took a sip. Whatever it was burned on the way down, but it didn’t calm his nerves.

He didn’t like being left in the dark. And right now, that’s exactly where he was.

Waiting.