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

Chapter 807: Where Gods Come Home

The Hunters devoured the coastal highway like starving predators finally let off the leash.

Two hundred. Two-fifty. Three hundred miles per hour—the speedometer gave up pretending to matter somewhere around two-eighty, dissolving into abstract poetry while the world smeared into long, liquid streaks of green, gray, and salt-blue.

Cities vanished in minutes. Suburbs surrendered without a fight. Farmland rolled over and played dead.

Then forest closed in—ancient, brooding pines so dense the afternoon sun became a rumor filtered through needles. The road narrowed to a single hesitant lane, swallowed by canopy until it felt less like driving and more like threading a needle in the dark.

Yellow signs began appearing like nervous sentinels:

DEAD END – 2 MILESROAD ENDS AHEAD

PRIVATE PROPERTY – TURN BACK NOW

We ignored them with the polite contempt usually reserved for expired parking tickets.

The warnings grew more theatrical:

DANGER – CLIFF AHEAD

NO TRESPASSING – VIOLATORS WILL BE SHOT

LAST WARNING.

The trees finally spat us out.

And there it was.

The cliff.

Not a cliff so much as a declaration of war against geology. A sheer knife-edge of granite dropping into oblivion, so clean it looked like the planet had been sliced open with surgical spite. Beyond the lip: nothing but sky that seemed to be infinite.

Below: a chasm so deep the bottom drowned in perpetual twilight, mist curling like smoke from something ancient and impatient.

We killed the engines.

Silence landed hard—only wind moaning across stone and the faint, far-off screams of gulls circling somewhere in the dark below.

Soo-Jin dismounted first. Helmet off. Hair spilling like ink. She walked to the edge with the calm of someone who’d already stared down worse monsters than gravity. A drop was just physics. Physics could be reasoned with.

She stopped at the very lip. Looked down.

And something in her posture changed.

The blackness wasn’t passive. It watched. Hungered. Reached. Not with hands—nothing so crude—but with absence itself, a void that felt personally offended by the fact she still existed on solid ground.

Her head tilted. A faint tremor ran through her shoulders.

Jump.

The word didn’t arrive through ears. It bloomed inside her skull like pressure from deep water. Soft. Reasonable. Inevitable.

Fall.

Let go.

Her weight shifted forward—half an inch, maybe less. Enough.

Then pain lanced through her temples—bright, surgical, the kind of spike that says not today. She staggered back, one hand clamped to her forehead, the other groping for balance. Vision swam. Horizon tilted drunkenly.

For a heartbeat she couldn’t tell whether the cliff was falling or she was.

She turned. Walked back on legs that hadn’t quite remembered how to work. Face pale. Eyes wide with something that wasn’t quite fear—more like the aftershock of recognition.

She shook her head once. Dead end.

But the tremor in her hands told a different story.

Madison’s arms cinched tighter around my waist. "Peter..."

I smiled into the wind.

"Get behind me," I said. "Hold on."

"What are you—"

"Trust me."

We shifted. She slid behind, chest to my back, arms wrapping my torso, fingers locking over my sternum like she was bracing for impact or prayer—maybe both. Her heartbeat hammered against my spine: fast, alive, unafraid in the way only people who’ve already chosen you can be.

That was love, distilled to pulse and pressure.

"Strap engage."

The Hunter answered instantly. Nano-tendrils slithered from concealed ports—cool, efficient, merciless. They coiled around wrists, ankles, torsos, thighs. Mag-locks snapped home. Straps ratcheted down until breath became a luxury and two bodies fused into one sleek, aerodynamic missile.

Madison gasped at the sudden crush. Then laughed—bright, feral, exhilarated. She got it now.

"Peter!" Soo-Jin’s voice cracked across the wind, raw with something close to panic. "What the hell are you—STOP!"

I twisted the throttle.

The Reaper erupted forward. Plasma thrusters ignited with a scream that sounded almost relieved. Magnetic rails sang power no road-legal vehicle had any right to possess. We launched toward the edge at a velocity that turned air into glass and time into suggestion.

Soo-Jin’s scream chased us—"PETER! THERE’S NOTHING—"

We hit the lip.

And the world hiccuped.

Reality didn’t break to take us down the cliff.

It burped.

Time stretched thin and sticky. Air in front of us shivered—not heat haze, not mirage—existence itself forgetting how to stay solid. Colors ran like wet paint: sky blue bleeding into molten gold bleeding into a shade that hadn’t been invented yet.

Soo-Jin’s voice cut off mid-word, sliced clean by perfect silence.

My skin prickled. Every nerve lit up—not pain, but hyper-awareness. I could feel the precise lattice of carbon in my bones, the dance of electrons in my blood, the razor-thin line between here and gone.

Madison’s arms locked harder. Her heartbeat triple-timed against my back. Her breath hitched once—sharp, trusting—then steadied as she pressed her face between my shoulder blades and closed her eyes against the impossible.

For one endless, airless instant we hung in the bubble. No up. No down. No forward. Just us, the machine, and a pocket of distorted spacetime trying to decide whether to spit us out or swallow us forever.

Then—

pop.

My ears throbbed like I’d rocket-surfaced from the Mariana Trench without decompression stops. Pressure still hammered the drums; every sound felt muffled and too loud at the same time.

Madison sucked air behind me in a ragged, desperate gasp—like her lungs had briefly unionized, gone on strike, and just remembered they were contractually obligated to keep her alive.

The driveway unrolled ahead like someone had rolled out royal emerald velvet for particularly depraved monarchs.

Grass flanked both sides in perfection: every blade clipped to identical height, edges so sharp you could shave with them if you were feeling masochistic.

Ancient oaks marched along the path—trunks thicker than most people’s egos, branches weaving overhead into a leafy cathedral that turned afternoon sunlight into golden prison bars stabbing down at us.

The pale stone under the tires was polished to mirror-smooth; the Reaper rolled forward like it was gliding on ice made of money.

I eased off the throttle. Nano-straps retracted with a soft, reluctant sigh, slithering back into their ports. Madison’s arms loosened around my waist—slow, reluctant, like she wasn’t entirely convinced the universe had finished trying to kill us yet.

"Holy shit," she rasped. Voice cracked. Whole body trembled against my back. "We just drove through nothing, Peter. Literal fucking void. No air. No up. No down. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My brain flatlined and all I had left was your stupid leather jacket and the certainty we were about to become quantum roadkill. What the actual fuck was that?"

Before I could decide between smug explanation or honest "I have no goddamn idea either," reality hiccuped again behind us.

Soo-Jin’s Hunter detonated through the ripple like it had personally insulted the portal and was now making a very loud point. Bike fishtailed hard—tires howling for traction on stone instead of nonexistence—before she muscled it straight and skidded to a dramatic, smoking stop right beside us.

Helmet torn off in one savage yank. Hair a black storm. Eyes so wide they showed too much white.

She stared.

At us. At herself. At the driveway, the oaks, the impossible fact that physics had apparently decided to take a smoke break and let us live.

Then she laughed.

Not polite relief. Not even sane relief. Full-throated, manic, unhinged cackling that bent her forward over the tank until her forehead nearly kissed the gauges. Tears streamed freely—mix of wind, terror, adrenaline comedown. Knuckles blanched white around the grips; the bike actually rocked with how hard she was shaking.

"I watched you die," she choked out between waves. "I watched the cliff fucking eat you and I thought—well, shit, guess that’s it. So I just... rode after you. Straight into the goddamn grave. Like some tragic fucking romance novel heroine who decides ’if he’s dead I’m dead too, let’s make it cinematic.’"

Another hysterical burst; she slapped the tank hard enough to dent nano metal before it reshaped. "What the fuck does that say about me? I saw my boss vanish into nonexistence and my first coherent thought was ’hold my beer, I’m coming too.’ I need therapy. I need a lobotomy. I need Jesus, Buddha, and a stiff drink."

Madison—legs still wobbling like newborn foal—slid off the Reaper, stumbled the three steps over, and yanked Soo-Jin into a hug without preamble.

The Korean woman stiffened for half a heartbeat—pure instinct, pure pride—then collapsed into it like every bone in her body had just remembered it was allowed to be human.

"It says you’re family, you gorgeous, suicidal maniac," Madison murmured into her hair. "It says when one of us decides to yeet off a cliff into the existential blender, the rest of us don’t even pause to write a suicide note. We just follow. Like loyal, beautiful, deeply unwell idiots."

Soo-Jin laughed again—quieter, wetter, still teetering on the edge of hysteria but finally grounding. "That was the most insane thing I’ve ever done," she said into Madison’s shoulder. "And days ago me and Ava garroted a Triad enforcer with my own stocking in a Kowloon back alley while wearing nothing but spite. This? This takes the fucking cake."

"Same," Madison agreed, voice cracking. "Same."

They separated. Both turned to me in perfect sync.

****

The mansion didn’t appear so much as deign to reveal itself.