Reincarnated As The God Of Lust With A System

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Serenity hung in the air as Michael's long fingers danced across the grand piano. The melody flowed effortlessly, each note syncing with the rhythm of the wind. Michael—what was his last name again?—was a picture of solemnity that night, seated alone in the open field.

The moon draped its dim light over him like a silken veil, illuminating his silver hair and giving his pale skin an otherworldly glow. Eyes closed, he seemed unbothered by the whispers slithering through the shadows. What broke his focus, however, was the sharp groan of a woman—a sound soaked in vengeance.

Michael smiled, but his eyes remained shut, his hands refusing to falter. "You found me," he said, his voice calm. "Wrong timing, I must confess."

"You bastard! You murdered my family!" The woman's voice trembled with rage, each word a lash. She stood just a few feet away, her bloodstained face framed by messy blonde hair. "It's the perfect time for you to die."

Curious, Michael stopped playing. Slowly, he opened his eyes, revealing silver irises that gleamed like sapphires. He studied her: hunter's armor, wild anger, and raw determination. Her disheveled appearance was nothing remarkable.

"Ah," he mused, tilting his head. "Let me help you understand. An oracle once prophesied that seduction would be the death of me. Yet… with those things on your chest, I don't see how you'll manage it."

The insult hit its mark. Rage flared in her eyes as she lunged forward. "Go to hell!"

The dagger in her hand gleamed briefly before colliding with an invisible barrier just inches from his chest. The impact sent her stumbling back, but fury propelled her forward again, her strikes growing more desperate.

Michael sighed, unfazed. "You let emotion cloud your judgment. A mistake all of you make." His voice was steady, almost bored, as her dagger hovered precariously close to his face, unable to pierce the shimmering shield.

"This is a C-rank barrier. Even someone of your A-rank should break it with ease… if you hadn't lost your composure."

"Shut up!" she roared, slashing again with all her might. The barrier shimmered faintly but remained unbroken.

Michael's expression flattened. Was this all she had? His eyes drifted, briefly assessing her chest again. Still unimpressive. He stifled a yawn.

"Well," he said, almost to himself, "at least you're powerful… if painfully reckless."

The woman didn't hear him. She prepared for one last, desperate strike when, in an instant, a playing card materialized before her—a red Ace of Hearts. Her eyes widened in confusion, but the realization came too late.

When she looked down, there was a gaping hole where her heart had been.

"You're purely a physical fighter," Michael muttered, his tone edged with disappointment. "I suppose I overestimated you."

The woman staggered, her face frozen in shock as she crumpled to the ground. Blood pooled beneath her lifeless body, her eyes locked wide open in terror.

Michael sighed, brushing a hand through his silver hair. There was something strange, though—her mana was absent. Why didn't the system display her soul? She'd been ruled by emotions like any human. So why—

"What an effort," a voice interrupted, sharp and biting.

Michael stiffened, turning to see her. Or rather, another version of her. She looked nearly identical to the corpse at his feet, save for her chest—a detail that sparked a flicker of amusement in his otherwise stoic expression.

"Usually, my clones handle the dirty work," the woman said, her tone laced with disdain. "But it seems you're worth the trouble."

Michael studied her, intrigued. "Ah, I see," he murmured. "You're the original. And you've… enhanced certain assets. How moral of you."

Her scowl deepened. "I despise fighting personally. But since you managed to overcome one of my clones, I'll make an exception."

"You seem calm for someone bent on revenge," Michael observed.

"I am," she replied coldly. "Like you said, emotions shouldn't overshadow responsibilities. Besides…" Her lips curled into a smirk. "Vengeance will be mine, eventually."

Michael's gaze flickered, but his concentration faltered. He blinked, realizing too late that something was wrong.

His limbs grew heavy. His vision blurred.

"What—"

"You dropped your guard," she said, stepping closer.

Michael crumpled to the ground, the world tilting around him. His mind spun as he fought the drowsiness seeping into his veins. What skill was this? He had to know.

The last thing he saw was her towering over him, her smug expression framed by a… distracting silhouette.

No, not just her. Her chest.

And then, darkness.

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