The Almighty Dominance

Previously, while Alex was still trapped in the prison cage, Major General Marcus Hale sat comfortably in his Chicago office, enjoying a cigar when his phone rang.

He picked it up casually.

"Laura Montclair," Marcus drawled with a lazy smirk. "You wanted this Alex guy dead, right? Consider it done. Mind telling me again who exactly he is?"

"He's just some nobody doctor running a tiny clinic in a Vancouver slum," Laura said coldly. "Nothing to worry about."

Marcus chuckled, exhaling a slow stream of smoke.

"I've wiped out thousands like him—he'll vanish, no question. But..." He smirked, voice dropping into a darker tone.

"If you give me another night like last week, I might even take my time. Drag it out. What do you say?"

"Perfect," Laura shot back coldly. "I was craving that too."

The line went dead.

Barely moments later, the phone rang again. Marcus frowned when he saw the caller ID.

"Governor Tom Jones? What's the matter now?"

"I hear you're holding someone named Alex," Tom Jones said in a calm, icy voice.

Marcus grunted. "If you're talking about the Vancouver doctor, yeah, he's mine."

"I'll send you his photo. Confirm it's him," Tom ordered.

Marcus glanced at his phone, nodding sharply. "Yep, that's him."

"Good. Kill him," Tom said flatly. "Same rate as always, one hundred thousand dollars per person."

"Business as usual," Marcus shrugged.

"Actually, I'll triple it," Tom continued with a sinister edge. "But make it brutal. I want him to suffer horribly."

Marcus laughed darkly. "Consider it entertainment. I'll livestream his torture. You bring the popcorn."

The second Marcus ended the call, his phone rang twice more, with Dupont and Hernandez making identical demands.

Torture Alex. Make it agonizing. Kill him.

Marcus shook his head in disbelief, muttering to himself, "What the hell did this guy do to piss off four out of the five Chicago Lords?"

Suddenly, an assistant burst through the door, face pale, holding out a paper with trembling hands. "Sir, you need to see this."

Marcus snatched the paper and scanned it quickly. His eyes widened with shock and delight.

"Johnson's throwing a hundred million on this guy's head. That's not a bounty- that's a goldmine."

Marcus' eyes burned with greed, sharp and electric.

"Four Lords already want him buried. Johnson-the fifth-wants his head on a spike. I bag him, and I'm set for life. This is my damn retirement plan."

Marcus stood up abruptly, eyes blazing with excitement.

"Bring Alex to the center of the field. We're going to put on a show. Torture him slowly, painfully, until he's begging for death. Afterwards, we'll barbecue his remains."

Minutes later, Alex was chained to a tall post in the center of the open field, vulnerable and exposed.

Marcus barked an order, and a soldier stepped forward holding a whip lined with razor-sharp thorns.

Each lash would shred flesh, exposing bone instantly.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Marcus barked, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

He shot a glare at the soldier still talking to Alex.

"These people didn't come for conversation-they came for blood. Now whip him!"

Around the field, prisoners watched anxiously, whispering their grim expectations. "Poor Kid," someone muttered. "He'll be dead soon enough. Let's hope it's quick."

The soldier, Montana sneered at Alex, brandishing the vicious whip.

"Say goodbye, asshole. This whip has tasted plenty of blood already."

He swung the whip back, but suddenly his arm jerked violently, forcing the whip to lash brutally across his own back.

The soldier howled in agony as the sharp barbs tore through his flesh.

The entire crowd gasped, horrified and confused.

"Montana! What the hell are you doing?" another soldier shouted, rushing forward.

Montana's face twisted in anguish and confusion, his movements not his own.

Before anyone could stop him, he swung again, this time wrapping the whip tightly around the approaching soldier's neck.

"No" the trapped soldier gasped desperately.

But Montana jerked the whip

harshly, slicing deep into the man's throat. Blood sprayed everywhere, staining the ground crimson as the soldier collapsed, choking and twitching.

Marcus stood frozen, his earlier confidence now replaced by stunned silence and creeping dread.

The other outsider rushed forward, pistol aimed straight at Montana. "Montana, stop right now! Do you want to die?"

Montana stared back in horror, desperately trying to shout, "My body is moving on its own! Help me!"

But his lips refused to open, sealed shut by some invisible force.

Instead, his hand whipped around violently, striking down any soldier who dared approach.

Marcus snapped into action, his voice cold and ruthless. "Shoot him!"

The soldiers hesitated, their guns trembling slightly.

One of them, Samuel aimed directly at Montana and whispered, almost apologetically, "Sorry, Montana."

The trigger squeezed, but in an instant, the soldier's hand twisted unnaturally to the side.

His shot went wild, blasting into the chest of his nearest comrade. Shock filled his eyes as he saw what he'd done.

Confusion and terror exploded among the soldiers.

Suddenly, Samuel turned and began firing wildly into his own ranks.

The soldiers, caught completely off guard, returned fire desperately.

But no matter how many bullets hit Samuel, he didn't fall. Like some kind of unstoppable monster, he kept

Sting until his magazine clicked

empty.

Montana continued swinging his arms, whipping soldiers brutally aside. Bullets

tore into his head and body, yet he moved as if he felt nothing.

"They're zombies! They've turned into zombies!" one soldier screamed, panic infecting the ranks.noveldrama

Marcus stood frozen, disbelief

etched on his hardened face. He had

seen countless battles, slaughtered

thousands without blinking but never anything like this.

The impossibility of the scene chilled him to the bone.

His phone suddenly rang, slicing through the chaos. He snatched it from his

pocket.

"Marcus," a cold voice said, "you've taken someone named Alex. Release him immediately, or we're going to war."

Marcus looked at the caller ID and felt his stomach churn.

It was Alfred Kingston, the powerful governor who now controlled Los Angeles.

"Alfred, I have no idea what you're talking about," Marcus lied hastily.

"Don't pretend," Alfred growled dangerously. "Alex isn't someone you can mess with. Let him go, for everyone's sake."

Marcus felt his throat tighten. "I'll check if my men took him by mistake. I'll get back to you."

His gaze shifted instinctively to Alex, who stood calmly across the distance.

Their eyes met, and Marcus felt an inexplicable dread crawling up his spine. "Damn it! I'm a general! I fear no one!" Marcus muttered angrily, shaking off the

unease.

His phone rang again, jolting him. He answered tensely, "Governor Vermont. What a pleasant surprise."

"Marcus," Kelly's voice was ice-cold and furious, "you kidnapped Alex. Release

him immediately, or prepare for war."

"I don't have any idea—"

"Stop playing games!" Kelly roared.

"I've hacked your systems-I can see you're broadcasting him live to the Chicago warlords! Stop lying, you pathetic bastard, or I'll end you!"

Marcus angrily ended the call. He stared intently at Alex, baffled yet defiant.

"Who the hell are you?" he muttered under his breath.

He hesitated for a moment, visions of the hundred million dollars offered by the Chicago lords flashing through his mind.

Gritting his teeth, he barked orders, "All of you, fire! Turn that man into Swiss cheese!"

Marcus reasoned that if Alex died now, he could claim ignorance, say it was too late to stop his men.

But suddenly, a deafening military alarm blared, sending everyone into panic.

"What the hell is going on?" Marcus demanded furiously.

One of his assistants ran to him, breathless. "General, it's Vancouver!"

"What about Vancouver?"

"They're launching missiles!"

"What?"

"Fifty missiles inbound! Right now!"

Marcus's face twisted with fury and disbelief. "Are they insane? Are they declaring

war?"