The Almighty Dominance

Before Kelly could swing another brutal blow, a sudden commotion erupted, freezing both fighters mid-action.

"Look! The Kingstons just arrived!" a voice shouted urgently from the crowd.

All eyes snapped toward the entryway as Jasmine strode confidently into view, flanked by Vancouver's top five knights.

Her presence radiated authority, silencing murmurs and heightening the tension instantly.

Charles assessed the situation swiftly and growled, "Enough. Let's save our energy—the main event's about to begin."

Byson sneered venomously at Kelly, leaning close to whisper with a chilling threat, "You're damn lucky, punk. If they hadn't shown up, you'd be spending tonight bleeding in my bed."

Kelly, unimpressed and bored, shrugged off the insult and slumped back into her chair without a word.

Alex leaned forward, his voice icy and precise. "Had you actually tried, he'd already be dead."

"Exactly," Kelly drawled with a smirk, "he got lucky today—not ending up in a coffin."

Across the arena, Charles, Byson, and Clara settled into their seats, eyeing the newcomers warily.

Byson's jaw tightened, his gaze fixed in disbelief. "Impossible. They brought Mr. Damme himself? They must be hell-bent on victory today!"

Clara hesitated, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Who's Mr. Damme? Is he really that strong?"

Byson exhaled deeply, his tone dripping with awe and reverence. "Mr. Damme isn't just strong—he's legendary. One of Vancouver's Top five Best Knights. Finding someone in the whole damn state who can match him? Nearly impossible."

"No wonder he stands out," Clara whispered, staring at Vann Damme as he moved gracefully through the admiring crowd. "Look at how he carries himself. He's extraordinary."

Nearby, disciples gazed at Vann with a blend of admiration and envy.

Achieving a spot among the elite top ten was the pinnacle, a true mark of honor demanding absolute respect.

"Totally different from a certain someone over there," Clara said, glancing at Alex and Kelly. "Alex is just clinging to a woman's success like some leech."

"Leeching off women is pathetic," Byson muttered with a low growl. "Real strength comes from your fists-and nothing else."

Jasmine was already in motion before she even spotted Alex.

The moment her eyes found Alex, she glided to his side and slipped gracefully into the seat beside him.

"Alex, glad you're already here," she said, her voice warm and sincere.

Alex's voice was low and urgent. "Jasmine, the Chicago Lords came ready for war today. They are not a good people. Watch your back—something bad might happen."

Victoria, overhearing their exchange, rolled her eyes dismissively. "Relax. We've got Vancouver's top five knights. The Lords don't stand a chance."

Alex flashed a brief, enigmatic smile, choosing silence as his strongest response. Sometimes, words did nothing but clutter the truth.noveldrama

A sudden hush fell over the arena as yet another group emerged from the opposite passage.

At their head marched Jaxon Creed, Chicago's unrivaled champion.

His sharp eyes surveyed the room with a predatory calm, and the crowd instinctively cleared a path, intimidated by his mere presence.

Zane and the rest of his ruthless crew followed, their grim expressions a clear message.

The atmosphere thickened, crackling with imminent hostility as both factions locked gazes.

Zane's voice pierced through the tension, challenging and mocking.

"Miss Kingston, I admire your nerve accepting this battle-but mark my words, today, glory belongs to Chicago alone."

"Enough chatter. If you're serious, show me with blood, not words," Jasmine sneered, eyes cold and sharp.

"You'll regret asking," the challenger shot back.

"We'll settle this with a five-on-five showdown. One-on-one fights, round after

round. Last fighter standing claims victory. Deal?"

Jasmine tilted her chin defiantly, a subtle smirk hinting at ruthless confidence. "Done."

Both sides withdrew swiftly, their corners erupting into tense whispers, strategy forming in hushed urgency.

Soon, the arena crackled with anticipation.

Shouts and whistles filled the air as the first warrior from Chicago Lords emerged a brute built like he was carved from stone, towering and savage.

The crowd exploded with feverish cries.

"Conan the Barbarian!"

"Conan! Crush their bones!"

Clara turned anxiously to Charles. "Is he as dangerous as they say?"

Before Charles could even draw

breath, Byson cut in grimly, "He doesn't just fight-he destroys. Conan's left more broken bodies in this ring than any other. If his

opponents live, they wish they hadn't."

Conan ascended the ring, each heavy step shaking the very stage beneath him. Muscles rippled beneath his scarred skin, a massive club slung casually over one immense shoulder.

He glared out, his eyes fierce with primal hunger, then bellowed,

like thunder, "Vancouver het

You

s cowards, send someone to

die!"

Frank, ranked fifth in Vancouver's elite, stepped forward cockily, springing effortlessly into the ring.

He danced lightly on his feet, brimming with youthful arrogance and agility.

"You're big, sure," Frank mocked with a smug grin, circling Conan swiftly.

"But big means slow. You'll barely see me coming when I carve the first cut into that ugly hide."

Conan's eyes flashed dangerously. Without warning, he swung the club in a vicious arc—a blur of wood and fury.

Frankl never saw it coming.

For a barbarian with such a massive frame, how could he attack so fast?

The blow slammed into Frankl's ribs with sickening force, launching him across

the ring.

His body twisted violently through the air, then crashed onto the hard floor with a stomach-turning crunch.

Silence swallowed the arena as every eye locked onto the brutal scene in stunned horror.

Doctors rushed desperately toward the broken man, panic etched on their faces. They knelt hurriedly, examining his shattered frame.

One medic looked up grimly, voice trembling, “His spine's snapped. Pray he makes it through the night."

A dark hush settled momentarily before roaring cheers broke loose once again, the crowd whipped into bloodthirsty frenzy.

Conan stood tall in brutal triumph, thrusting his weapon skyward, roaring with savage pride.

The crowd matched his frenzy, chanting deafeningly, unified and feral:

"Chicago! Chicago! Chicago!"