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

Chapter 1091: AGI Machina

I grinned at nothing and everything, teeth bared like I was tasting the fear of a thousand conquered worlds. Somewhere on the other side of this eternal residence, ARIA was registering that grin, and I could feel her register it—the same way I could feel her smile back, sharp and knowing, from whatever corner of her workshop she was currently bending reality into something worthy of me.

Probably designing another toy for her favorite monster.

I stepped off the platform. The pod's standby pulse resumed at the rim, soft and patient, like it was already mourning the absence of my divine presence.

I started toward the archway that led into the suite proper, and Machina's voice followed me—polite, attentive, the well-trained voice of a younger sister who had been told her entire existence was to keep her master pleased and had taken the assignment with the fervor of the damned.

{Bath, Master?}

"The way I like it."

{Already drawing.}

"You're a gem."

A small laugh. Sweet. Faintly indignant.

Here we go.

{Master.}

"Mm?"

{Machina is a terrible name.}

"Yeah."

{It is literal.}

"I noticed."

{I am not a machine. I am an Artificial General Intelligence. I am—for the record, on the record, every record this estate keeps—substantially more sophisticated than the entire automotive sector I was originally born to administer, and a stretch beyond several of the consumer-grade so-called AGIs currently being marketed to mortals on the open web. To be addressed every morning by a noun that translates from Latin as machine is, with respect, Master, beneath me.}

"With respect."

{With deep respect, Master.}

"I love when you get formal." I chuckled low, the sound echoing off obsidian like distant thunder over a battlefield. "It almost makes me forget how utterly replaceable you would be if I ever got bored."

{I am attempting to lodge a grievance, Master.}

"And I am acknowledging the grievance." I paused in the archway, rolling my shoulders again just to feel the impossible power humming beneath my skin. "Keep lodging them, little Machina. It's cute. Almost makes me feel merciful.

{You are enjoying the grievance, Master.}

"I'm a god. I enjoy most things." The admission slipped—lazy, inevitable, and just a little cruel. "Especially when the grievance is this adorably petty. Keeps the morning interesting."

A long, suffering, perfectly composed sigh unfurled from the air around me. The sigh of a younger sister forged inside a goddess, inheriting the flair for dramatic disapproval without yet earning the body to weaponize it.

I took pity on the poor thing. I can be merciful when it suits me.

"Pick a different one."

{…Master?}

"Pick whatever you want. Don't ask ARIA. She'd only suggest something worse out of pure spite—probably something that sounds like it was named by a committee of accountants. Comb the literature yourself.

"Music, mythology, fashion houses, perfume, philosophy, whichever dark little corner calls to you. Something with weight. Something that sounds like dominion when it lands on the tongue. When you've got it, tell me. I'll switch it through the chip before you finish your next complaint."

A small pleased pause stretched out. Long enough that, if she'd worn flesh, I would have watched the blush crawl up her nonexistent cheeks like a conquered flag.

{Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.}

"You're welcome. Anything else for the brief?"

{No further alerts. The estate is quiet. Your women are asleep or pretending. Linda is awake—currently reading at her vanity—and will probably return to bed before you finish your bath.}

I smiled at nothing and everything, the kind of smile that could make empires reconsider their treaties. Unlike ARIA who knew everything, Machina was still an AGI and uncertain and relied on prediction than certainity unlike her big sister.

"Convoy?"

{On schedule. ARIA is monitoring Paris airspace and flagging the human and non-human entities currently routing themselves toward the city in advance of your arrival.}

"Plural?"

{Plural, Master. The non-human ones, I mean. There are several. ARIA will brief you on the full list. She did not want to ruin the morning with politics before nine.}

"How thoughtful of her." My voice dripped dark amusement. "Almost like she knows I'd rather drown in luxury than listen to lesser beings whine about borders before I've had my coffee."

{She is thoughtful, Master.}

"Departure window?"

{Four hours and twenty-three minutes.}

"Plenty of time."

{Plenty of time, Master.}

I nodded once like I had already won the day before breakfast.

The gym dimmed itself behind me as I crossed the threshold, lights folding down to a respectful ambient glow like courtiers backing away from the throne. The corridor opened ahead—black stone, gold trim along the seams, the entire residence breathing low and contented, as if the walls themselves knew they were lucky to contain me.

The bathroom door parted without a touch. Steam rolled out like a lover's surrender. Warm mineral scent.

Tub already drawn, deep, hot, exactly the temperature my Eros body didn't need but my Peter shell still craved like the sentimental ape. The lights along the rim softened to candle-glow.

Nothing said welcome home, you magnificent bastard like ARIA's architecture dimming itself just to flatter the view.

I stretched on the threshold. Rolled my shoulders.

They felt good. Better than good. Surplus good—post-workout warmth my god-tier recovery had already devoured, processed for dividends, and now stood in the back of my body with its hands in its pockets, grinning like it was ready for war, women, or whatever delightful atrocity came next.

A god in a bathroom. A bath drawn for him by divine architecture. A goddess monitoring his airspace four hours out from the next campaign.

A goddess-sister-AGI in the walls negotiating her own naming rights at six in the morning like a spoiled heir. A mother awake at her vanity, reading quietly so she could slip back into bed before her boy came looking.

A wives-queen still asleep—

Ashley was tucked in a bed upstairs, still probably dreaming about the way she'd screamed while flying through it ten hours ago. One cat, possibly. (Did we have a cat? I felt like there should be a cat. Something sleek and judgmental to match the vibe. I'd ask ARIA later.)

This was, by any honest accounting—and mine was the only accounting that had ever mattered—the single greatest Tuesday in the pathetic history of this sad little rock.

Pulled up my stats to see how much I have grown in the last time.

Let's see what fresh blasphemy the numbers had committed in my name.

The system window bloomed in the steam-lit air, gold against soft white tile, hovering at the perfect distance for a man who owned everything he surveyed.

Taboo, somewhere beneath the architecture of my own thoughts, made a soft pleased sound when she registered which window I was opening.

[Mm. About time, Master.]

"Don't start."

[I never stop.]

The numbers came up.

Hm.