The Almighty Dominance

Inside the study, Alfred was deep in conversation with Doctor Harris when his phone suddenly buzzed against the polished desk.

"Father," Charles's voice came through the loudspeaker, ragged, breathless. "The rebels opened fire on us. I'm hit."

Alfred shot up from his chair, panic cutting through his usual iron composure. "Son! Are you alright? Tell me where you're hurt!"

Charles gave a short, shaky laugh.

"It's nothing-just bruises on my arms. Kelly shoved me too hard when she pushed me down. She still needs to be taught a lesson-you should punish her later. But my girlfriend... she's bleeding bad."

His eyes dropped to the tiny, bloody cut running down her arm. Honestly, most villagers would just spit on it, slap some dirt over, and call it "Done."

But the way she carried on, you'd think she was nine months pregnant and about to deliver triplets in the middle of the street.

Suddenly this little scratch had become a full-blown emergency, complete with "rush me to the hospital, I'm dying" theatrics.

"Where are you now?" Alfred demanded.

"I'm taking her to Los Angeles Prime Hospital. We're already on the way."

"Good. Stay there. I'll send men to guard you." Alfred's relief was sharp, almost bitter, but Charles wasn't done.

"Father," Charles said suddenly with anger, "it's time that we waiting for so long."

"We need to retaliate by launching 'that' plan. No more waiting. No more holding back. It's time to wipe out the rebels - and cleanse our Los Angeles of all the filth and worthless maggots once and for all."

Alfred's eyes narrowed. "What are you suggesting?"

Charles didn't hesitate.

"My contact's already confirmed. They'll buy everything - young women sold as slaves, some children and strong men trained as assassins, others thrown into blood games for the dark ring."

"Every adult we send brings top dollar. And the poor? Their organs fetch a fortune. Just say it's revenge for their attack, and that we're doing all of this for the safety of Los Angeles."

His voice grew sharper, almost fevered.

"The money will flood in. And when it's done, your name will blaze in history as the governor who erased poverty itself."

"No beggars, no outcasts, no vermin dragging down the streets. On paper-zero poor."

"In reality-none alive to stain the records. Los Angeles reborn as a shining fortress for the elite alone. A city purified, perfect, untouchable."

His voice climbed, bright with a savage kind of glee. "And it won't stop there. Elites from every nation will flood in. We'll build casinos, temples of pleasure, arenas that never close."

“Endless entertainment! They'll throw fortunes at this city and the money will never dry up. They'll chase every appetite, every forbidden thrill. Los Angeles becomes their paradise-our paradise."

thoughts racing. A

started this war. We'll finish it-completely. No one will

call shut and sat a beat, fingers tapping the desk. Then

voice smooth as lacquer. "You

the

armed themselves. Weapons in their hands now-dangerous for the women and children of Los Angeles," Alfred said, almost

security. It's time. Launch the

sir?"

smile tightening. "Anyone with a record, the homeless, migrants with no one to claim them, anyone labeled worthless-we treat them as rebels. Sweep them out. Purge the rot. Los Angeles cannot

Angeles great again. So

children. And remember- one thousand dollars per head. The elites will pay. They want safe streets for their children; they'll bankroll it. Their money will make

but some animals

laugh rolled over the line, low and dangerous. "Understood. They're harmless people-easy to clean. But how do we spin this to the press?

Alfred said, cold and

the King wanted a perfect country-so he ordered a cleanse. He's the kind of ruler who only knows how to

neglecting his duties."

belongs to s

gave the perfect command by choosing

inevitable. We've already bought the right reporters. They'll turn our line into the

King's name. Killings, kidnappings-everything. We've already got eight thousand names on the list. Want them all gone

Alfred said

"Totally." Alfred didn't hesitate.

no room for trash. Let the King take the blame. When the city turns on him, we'll step

across his face. The war he'd been

step out to kill Alfred,

Jasmine's voice slipped from the

do anything. Just-please don't kill him.

prayer. Alex froze

heartbeat he pictured the King — himself. If he killed the governor, the streets would call him a bully. He let out a slow, bitter

bastard," he muttered - part cruelty, part pity- "you try to kill your daughter and she still begs for

to his knees, and gathered Jasmine into his arms. Her body was thin and light, fever-warm against his chest. For a beat

a second thought, he hauled her

rolled out like a black tide. Trucks filled the avenues, hulks of steel and canvas bristling with rifles and cold

through the streets,

Men who'd slept on cardboard rose to faces framed by muzzles. Some tried to run; some

city went dead

feeds, no frantic clips, no warning posts-just a quiet blackout while the boots moved. No one could call the world to tell

watching their city go dark, scrambled a

"Alfred Kingston's forces just hit us. What's your

command room, a battered map of Los Angeles spread under her

aides hovered like satellites around her desk. She'd been waiting