Lust Meter System: Conquering Beauties-Chapter 124: First Contact

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Blood hit the concrete floor in slow, steady drops, each one creating a small dark circle on the gray surface.

Grace’s eyes were squeezed shut, her body frozen in place. Her breath caught in her throat. She waited for the pain. For the sharp bite of metal piercing skin. For the impact that would end everything.

But it didn’t come.

She opened her eyes slowly, her eyelids fluttering.

A figure stood in front of her, blocking her view of the hallway ahead.

Liam.

He was standing between her and the direction the knife had come from, his body angled slightly to the side. His right hand was raised in front of him, fingers wrapped around something.

The blade.

He’d caught it. The sharp edge gripped tight between his fingers, the tip just inches from Grace’s face. Blood ran down his palm in a thin stream, winding around his wrist and dripping onto the floor.

Grace’s breath came out in a rush. "Oh no, Liam!"

Her voice broke, the fear she’d been holding back spilling out in those three words.

Liam didn’t respond immediately. His jaw was tight, muscles clenched. His breathing was controlled, measured, despite what had just happened. His hand trembled slightly from the effort of holding the blade, the sharp edge cutting deeper into his skin with each small movement.

Then he looked down at his palm, at the blood pooling in his hand and running down his wrist in rivulets.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. "I just grabbed it without thinking."

He shifted his grip on the blade carefully, ignoring the fresh sting as the edge cut even deeper, and pulled it free from his hand. Blood welled up immediately, dark and thick, but he didn’t drop the knife. He held it firmly, his knuckles white from the pressure.

Grace scrambled to her feet, her gun still gripped tight in her other hand. Her legs felt shaky beneath her. "Are you okay?"

Liam nodded, his eyes already scanning the hallway, searching for the source of the attack. "I’m good."

A voice echoed from above, bouncing off the concrete walls.

"Impressive."

Grace’s head snapped up.

There, perched on one of the metal support beams that ran along the ceiling about fifteen feet up, was a figure.

The killer.

A silhouette crouched on the beam fifteen feet up, barely visible against the flickering lights.

"You’re fast," the voice continued, calm and almost curious. Like he was observing something mildly interesting rather than someone who’d just stopped his attack. "I could barely register your movement."

Liam didn’t take his eyes off the figure. His hand tightened around the knife, blood still dripping from his fingers.

Grace raised her gun, aiming toward the figure on the beam. Her hands were steady now, the training kicking in. "We’re not going anywhere."

"You need to leave," Liam said, his voice firm. "Both of you."

Grace’s head snapped toward him. "What?"

"Grace—"

"I’m not leaving you to fight this bastard alone," Grace said, her voice firm. There was no hesitation in it.

Liam’s eyes flicked to Mark, who was still slumped against the wall a few feet behind them, pale and barely conscious. Blood soaked through his shirt. His breathing was shallow. Then Liam looked back at Grace.

"You don’t have a choice," Liam said quietly. "Mark’s injured. He needs treatment or he’s going to die."

Grace’s jaw clenched. Her eyes moved to Mark for just a second, and when they did, something cold passed over her face. "He can die for all I care. He was about to sell your life for his own."

Liam’s expression softened slightly. "If you let him die, you won’t be able to live with the guilt. And I don’t want that for you."

Grace stared at him for a long moment, her breathing heavy. Her chest rose and fell beneath her navy t-shirt.

Then her eyes shifted to Mark, and something dark crossed her face. She looked at him like she wanted to pull the trigger right then and there. Like she was seriously considering it.

Finally, she sighed, the sound heavy with frustration. "Fine."

She lowered her gun slightly and looked back at Liam. "But I’m coming right back. You hear me? Right back."

Liam nodded. "Okay."

Grace moved quickly, holstering her gun and grabbing Mark under his good arm. She pulled him to his feet with more force than necessary, and Mark groaned in pain, his head lolling to the side.

"Move," Grace said sharply.

She half-dragged, half-carried him down the hallway, her boots echoing against the concrete. Mark’s feet scraped along the floor as she moved, leaving faint streaks behind them.

Liam watched them go until they disappeared around the corner, Grace’s silhouette swallowed by the darkness.

*’Good. Now that she’s gone, I can go all out without having to explain anything.’*

Then he turned back to the figure on the beam.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the faint hum of the flickering lights overhead and the distant wail of sirens growing closer.

Then the figure spoke from above. "How were you able to move that fast?"

Liam looked up at him, his expression neutral. "I could ask you the same question."

The figure let out a low chuckle. "Fair enough. But I asked first."

"Maybe I just have good reflexes," Liam said.

’I really need to learn a better excuse for my powers.’

"Good reflexes," the figure repeated, amusement clear in his voice. "Sure. Let’s go with that."

There was a pause. The figure shifted slightly on the beam, adjusting his balance.

"But I think I already know the answer," the figure said. "You’re not exactly normal either, are you?"

Liam frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on," the figure said, his voice dropping slightly. "Don’t play dumb. You moved faster than any normal person could. Caught my knife mid-air like it was nothing. Why are you pretending like you’re not some kind of experiment? A test subject. Like me."

Liam’s eyes widened slightly.

’Experiment? Test subject? What the hell is he talking about?’

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Liam said carefully.

The figure was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed again, louder this time. The sound echoed off the walls. "Really? You’re going to play it like that? Fine. Doesn’t matter."

He shifted his weight on the beam, adjusting his stance. "Either way, I have to kill you."

Liam’s grip tightened on the knife in his hand. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you have to kill me?" Liam asked. "I didn’t do anything to you."

The figure shrugged. "You’re in my way. And you’re strong. That’s reason enough."

"That’s it?" Liam said. "That’s your reason?"

"Pretty much."

Liam shook his head. "Then why kill all those people? They weren’t in your way. They weren’t even strong. So what’s the point?"

The figure was quiet for a moment, like he was considering whether to answer. His silhouette remained perfectly still on the beam.

Then he spoke. "Practice."

"Practice?" Liam repeated.

"Yeah. There’s someone I need to be ready for." The figure gestured vaguely toward the warehouse behind them with one hand. "These thugs? They’re nothing. Just warm-ups."

Liam’s jaw clenched. "Warm-ups. So you’re just killing people for fun?"

"Not for fun," the figure said, his voice calm. "For preparation. There’s a difference."

"Not much of one," Liam shot back.

The figure chuckled. "Maybe not to you. But to me, it makes all the difference."

"And what about the people you’re killing?" Liam asked. "Do they get a say in being your practice targets?"

"Why would they?" The figure’s tone was genuinely confused, like the question didn’t make sense to him. "They’re criminals. Gang members. The kind of people the world is better off without."

Liam’s hand trembled slightly. "They were still people."

"People that nobody cared about," the figure said, his voice cold now. "People who chose this life. They knew the risks."

"That doesn’t give you the right to decide who lives and who dies," Liam said.

The figure tilted his head. "Right? There’s no such thing as right. Only power. And I have more of it than they did."

"So that’s it?" Liam said, his voice rising. "Might makes right? The strong get to decide?"

"That’s how the world works," the figure said simply. "The strong survive. The weak die. That’s always been the rule."

Liam’s anger flared. "That’s bullshit."

"Is it?" The figure’s voice was calm, unbothered. "Look around you. Every empire, every nation, every system of power—it’s all built on the same principle. The strong take what they want. The weak accept it or die trying to resist."

"You’re not building an empire," Liam said. "You’re just murdering people."

"I’m removing obstacles," the figure corrected. "There’s a difference."

"Not to the people you’re killing."

The figure shrugged. "They should’ve been stronger."

Liam’s grip on the knife tightened. "You killed a little boy’s older brother."

The figure paused. "What?"

"A kid," Liam said, his voice hard. "Maybe twelve, thirteen years old. His older brother was part of one of these gangs you’re wiping out. The brother was just trying to feed his family. Trying to survive. And you killed him."

The figure was quiet for a moment.

Then he spoke, and his voice was colder than before. "If he was part of a gang, then he made his choice."

"He didn’t have a choice," Liam said. "He was trying to keep his little brother alive."

"Then he should’ve found another way," the figure said. "One that didn’t involve being weak enough to die."

Liam stared at him. "You really believe that?"

"I know that," the figure said. "Survival of the fittest. That’s how the world works. If he was weak enough to die, then he didn’t deserve to live."

"That’s not how the world works," Liam said.

"It’s exactly how the world works," the figure replied. "You just don’t want to admit it."

Liam opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat.

Because part of him knew the figure was right.

Not morally. Not in any way that mattered. But factually.

Liam had been bullied in school. He’d seen how the bigger kids got away with things the smaller ones never could. How the rich kids got opportunities the poor ones didn’t. How people with power could do whatever they wanted while people without it suffered.

He’d seen his mom work herself to the bone just to keep them fed, while people who’d never worked a day in their lives lived in mansions.

The world wasn’t fair. It never had been.

The strong did take what they wanted. And the weak did suffer for it.

But that didn’t make it right.

Before he could say anything, something moved in the shadows.

Another flash of silver.

Another knife, spinning through the air toward him.

Liam reacted instantly.

He swung the knife in his hand up, meeting the incoming blade mid-flight.

Pain shot through his palm as his grip tightened on the handle, the cuts in his hand screaming in protest.

The two knives collided with a sharp metallic clang that rang out through the hallway, and the second knife deflected off to the side, clattering against the wall before falling to the floor.

Liam gritted his teeth, fighting through the burning sensation in his hand.

He didn’t go for the fallen knife. He just kept his eyes locked on the figure.

He looked back up at the figure, his eyes hard. "Come out of the shadows, bastard."

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the figure moved.

He dropped from the beam, landing on the floor in a crouch. The impact made almost no sound—just a soft thud against the concrete.

Slowly, he stood up.

The light from the flickering bulbs overhead finally illuminated his face.

He looked older than Liam.

Maybe twenty-five or so. Sharp features. Pale skin. Dark hair that fell messily across his forehead, hanging just above his eyes.

But it was what was above his head that made Liam freeze.

Three hearts.

Floating in the air above the figure’s head, visible only to Liam.

One of them was filled in. Black. Solid.

The remaining two were empty. Just an outline.

Liam stared at them, his mind racing.

’What the hell is that?’

The figure smiled. "There. Happy now?"

Liam didn’t answer.

He just gripped the knife tighter and watched the figure carefully.

The figure’s smile widened. "You’re different. I can tell. This might actually be fun."

He reached into his coat and pulled out two more knives, one in each hand. The blades gleamed under the flickering lights.

"Let’s have a good time, shall we?" the figure said.

And then he moved.