The Almighty Dominance

The flying iron door crashed back and crushed two thugs who'd been waiting with rifles, their bodies folding like paper under cold iron.

An alarm split the night. "Enemy attack!" someone screamed. The room filled with men reaching for laser pistols, faces hard with surprise and fury.

It was what war looked like in alleys-fast, ugly, inevitable. But Alex was faster.

He moved like a blade: precise, brutal. Men went down with snapped bones and gasps.

Weapons clattered and sparked across the wet stones. He didn't hesitate.

He broke wrists, snapped arms, tore men off their feet. The fight was a series of short, sharp sentences-strike, fall, breathe.

From the back of the room Jack Chambers appeared, a bull of a man with a grin that smelled of oil and money.

Beside him stood a hulking iron robot, bristling with guns and menace.

"You think you walk in here and take my turf?" Jack growled. "You bastard-do you want to die? Meet my guard: the latest model. It can crush a hundred men without breaking a sweat-"

Jack never finished.

Alex lunged. With one hand he slammed into the robot's core.

Metal arms tore and sparks flew; the machine's frame folded like a wounded animal and slammed into the wall, sending concrete tasting the floor.

Jack's confident grin snapped into confusion.

"Did you say something?" Alex asked, cold and close.

Jack's face went white. He dropped to his knees so fast it looked like an act. "No -no, sir. Welcome home, boss. Tell me what you want me to do. I will do it with my life."

After that night nothing was the same. Each week Alex walked with the Kingswell through the city's underside.

"Young Master," Jack said as he followed Alex down the narrow alley.

"This territory belongs to one of the toughest gangs in the city. Most of them are illegal immigrants from Xia. They call themselves cultivators-people who use breathing techniques and focus heaven and earth energy to harden their bodies. They're stronger than machines. Are you sure you want to take them on?"

Alex didn't even look back. "Sure," he said, walking straight toward a run-down gambling den glowing with red neon.

Two guards stood at the door, both sleeveless and built like fighters. One raised a brow. "You here to gamble?"

Alex smiled. “No. I'm here to take over this gang."

The words hit like a gunshot.

"You-!" the man snapped, dropping into a fighting stance. But before either of them could move, an invisible pressure slammed into them.

Their eyes rolled back, and they collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

froze, his breath caught in disbelief. He'd seen robot soldiers torn apart

built for war reduced to scrap in seconds. These people fought like engines of flesh and fury-cold,

lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious-taken out without Alex even

door open

den was alive with noise-cards snapping,

enough to sense the strongest presence in the

through

stop

finish, he

last door. Inside, a middle-aged man worked over floating 3D data projections. He

take this gang under my control,"

laughed, rising to his full height. His voice dripped arrogance.

said evenly. "But here's the

thrusting his fist forward. A shockwave rippled through the air, charged with

blow connected with Alex's chest-but the moment it did,

the sea. Then, just as quickly, it rebounded-amplified-ripping

a crash that shook the floor.

pale,

coughing blood. "I am Jamie Lee," he stammered.

in the doorway,

Lee-the infamous cultivator

single move. Jack exhaled slowly, the

great Jamie Lee, he thought. The legend just bowed

and his men moved through the city like wolves in winter-cold, relentless, and precise. One by

dismantled the underey et

gang

mafia heads, and black-market lords. No one stood for

they grew bolder; with every fallen thug, they climbed another rung of

could touch them, and no amount of money could buy them off. Their reach spread through the alleys and

the underworld, Alex sat in a

burned through half the syndicates, but the rest were no longer gangs- they were

and smiled for cameras next to nobles in pressed uniforms. They ran charity foundations by day and weapons shipments

men you arrested. They were men whose names appeared in government contracts and

They

the math

them, you don't start a gang war-you trigger a national crisis. The police would call you a terrorist. The military would call it

bosses wore medals. Their

sat

too soon wasn't strategy-it

said. "We build a company. A clean face

We hire our people under