The Almighty Dominance

Alex stood over the shattered thugs, his eyes cold as stone.

Hundreds of men knelt on the street, some trembling, others slumped lifeless against the asphalt.

The air stank of blood, sweat, and fear.

They had tasted hell. And heaven-heaven never gave entry to thugs, extortionists, or parasites.

No visas for their kind.

"Carlos," Alex said, his voice sharp as steel. "Wipe the Chicago Outfit out of Vancouver. After tonight, their name dies with them."

"Yes, sir," Carlos answered without hesitation.

"Make sure no one ever rises again to bully the weak. Let this be the last time- ever. The weak have bled enough, their tears have soaked this earth long enough."

"Every cry, every wound, every shattered life is a stain on us all. We should tremble with shame before the Almighty, who placed strength and authority in our hands to protect His people-yet we failed them, leaving them to suffer in silence for far too long."

"No more. Not tonight. It ends here."

"Never again, sir," Carlos answered, his voice steady, his eyes burning with resolve.

Thirty Kingswell men stepped from the shadows, silent and disciplined. They moved with the purpose of executioners.

Carlos turned to his men, voice carrying like steel. "Begin the execution."

A Kingswell soldier stepped forward, papers in his hand.

His eyes scanned the crowd, cold and unflinching, until they locked on a thug with

a lip ring and ink crawling up his neck.

He pointed. "That one."

Two men surged forward, dragging the thug to the front by his arms. He fought against their grip, spitting on the ground.

"Get your filthy hands off me, you dogs!" he roared, thrashing against their grip.

"You think you can drag me like some rat? I'll cut your throats the second I'm free! You hear me? You're already dead men!"

The thug crowd shifted uneasily, eyes darting, but silence held.

defiance sparked among them. A few sneered, baring yellow teeth, lifting their

had lived too long without fear, feeding off the

was for others, never

their necks, some still clung to their arrogance-faces carved with the stubborn pride of men who thought they

said, voice

assaulted four women, shattered bones of shopkeepers, and led gang wars that tore families apart. You turned this

if I did wrong. That's the law." "The Chicago Outfit paid cops to keep you untouchable. Prison's a joke

Steel flashed.

single brutal swing, Pieter's right

the night as he

nerves, cutting the flow, forcing the pain

soldier said coldly. "Go beg your

first time, Pieter understood

predator, the man

he faced monsters far darker

mob-men he had once

clutching one man's shoulder. "You promised—life and

Silence.

No one moved.

He turned to another.

only lowered their eyes. Pieter, once

for you and your mother! Just give me your arm damn you

looked at Pieter-looked at the bleeding stump where his right arm used to be-and turned his

bleed for me?!" That rejection ignited

his only remaining arm,

bastard! How dare you refuse me? When this is over, you'll be the one

his mouth when a Kingswell soldier moved

to the floor with a

sprayed across the pavement. His scream split

coldly, pressing the stump to stem the blood and still you

it's your

will trade their limb

shattered. He had never known

paid cops to protect him, to make him

lived like a ghost above

he

staggering, both arms gone,