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.

sneered, baring yellow teeth, lifting their chins as if to remind

fear, feeding off the

pain was for others,

some still clung to their

soldier said,

led gang wars

did wrong. That's the law." "The Chicago Outfit paid cops to keep you untouchable. Prison's a joke when the police serve your wallet. But here's the truth-unfortunately for

Steel flashed.

single brutal swing,

night as he writhed on the

his nerves, cutting the flow, forcing the

owe us your left arm," the soldier said coldly. "Go beg your brothers.

time,

the predator, the man who made

faced monsters far darker

the kneeling mob-men he had once called brothers, men he

promised—life and death together.

Silence.

No one moved.

He turned to another.

the men only lowered their eyes. Pieter, once feared, stood stripped

mother! Just give me your arm damn you His voice

bleeding stump where his right arm

all I did-you won't bleed for me?!" That rejection ignited

lashed out with his only remaining arm, seizing Bob's

this is over, you'll be the

when a

arm dropped to the floor

pavement. His scream

stem the blood and still you used it for evil. You've proven

it's your head. Go beg your brothers-see

them will trade their limb

had

paid cops to protect him, to make

like a

before these men, he was nothing. Less

cried, staggering, both arms