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.

his breath caught in disbelief. He'd seen

machines built for war reduced to scrap in seconds. These people fought like

one of the gang's strongest guards lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious-taken out

door

noise-cards snapping, dice rolling,

sense the strongest presence in the building. His eyes narrowed toward the back

walked through

stop him. "Sir,

the man could finish, he dropped, unconscious like

middle-aged man worked over floating 3D data projections. He turned

this gang under my

The man laughed, rising to his full height. His voice dripped arrogance. "Do you even know who I

said evenly. "But here's the real question-do you know

fist forward. A shockwave rippled through the air,

moment it did, the

the sea. Then, just as quickly, it rebounded-amplified-ripping through his own arm and

flew backward, slamming into the far wall with a crash that shook the floor. Blood

pale,

blood. "I am Jamie Lee," he stammered. "Welcome, Grand Master. Please take this place.

stood in the doorway,

expected Jamie Lee-the infamous cultivator from Xia-to stand his

a single move. Jack exhaled slowly, the shock heavy in his

Jamie Lee, he thought. The legend

city like wolves in winter-cold, relentless, and precise. One by

dismantled the underey et

gang

and black-market lords. No one stood for long.

they grew bolder; with every

of money could buy them off. Their reach spread through the alleys

underworld, Alex sat in a city that stank

the syndicates, but the

generals, shook hands with ministers, and smiled for cameras next to

were men whose names appeared in government contracts and whose

"donations" built hospitals that laundered millions. They were the invisible bloodstream of the nation-dirty

the math

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

medals. Their crimes

sat still. For

against them too soon wasn't strategy-it

we go legal," Alex said. "We build a company. A clean

our people