The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 349

“How... how the hell?” Bill stumbled to his feet, swaying like he’d been hit by a truck.

His eyes were wide, panicked, searching for something that made sense.

His jaw trembled, still stinging from the slap that had thrown him out of the arena like a rag doll.

One hit. Just one.

“This can’t be happening... this is impossible!”

Alex didn’t flinch.

His voice was steady, almost bored. “You’re out there, aren’t you? So it is possible.”

“No! No! That was—no way!” Bill bellowed, veins bulging in his neck.

His face twisted into something between fury and fear. “There’s no way you landed that hit! It had to be luck! Just dumb, blind luck!”

With desperate fury, he leaped back into the ring.

“You’re dead!” he screamed, throwing himself into a violent, reckless assault.

Every blow was wild, each strike more vicious and desperate than the last.

Yet Alex simply sighed, visibly bored.

One hand slipped lazily into his pocket, the other snapping out with astonishing speed.

His fist slammed brutally into Bill’s face with a loud crack.

Alex yawned as if it meant nothing.

Bill reeled backward, clutching at his ruined face.

Blood poured freely from his shattered nose, and his eyes filled with horror and humiliation.

“Why…why is this happening?” His voice trembled, weak and broken.

The stunned crowd gasped in collective disbelief.

Bill, Paris’s second-best fighter, a man they’d revered, now stood utterly humiliated.

It looked absurd—like watching a child trying to fight a grown man.

“This can’t be happening!” someone shouted.

“How the hell did Alex just wreck Bill?” another voice demanded incredulously.

Faces in the crowd dripped with nervous sweat, shaken by the unexpected outcome.

Nobody believed their eyes. Alex, a man with no previous record in any fight, had somehow annihilated Bill effortlessly.

Bill stood frozen, fear clutching his heart.

His entire body shook violently, overwhelmed by the realization that he faced someone far beyond his strength.

“Guess we’re done here,” Alex muttered, turning his back dismissively.

Fighting someone this weak was a waste of time.

But the insults from the crowd poured down relentlessly.

“Bill, you worthless coward!”

“Getting slapped around like a dog in the Paris Arena?! You call that a fight?!”

“You moron! Every damn sponsorship is pulling out—you’re done! Finished! You're a walking failure!”

“Kill him, Bill! Do something! You pathetic piece of garbage—I put money on you! Don’t you dare lose like this!”

In that moment, Bill felt every shred of his pride, his fame, and his wealth slipping away.

He knew the consequences of defeat—everything he'd built, every deal he'd made, hinged on this fight.

And now, he faced ruin.

Terror seized him. If he lost, his life would be worthless.

The thought of Guise’s wrath—the man who'd funded him for this match—filled him with blind, panicked desperation.

In one last frantic, desperate lunge, he tightened his grip on the machete, eyes blazing with unhinged fury.

Letting out a scream soaked in madness and rage, Bill charged forward—no strategy, no fear—just pure, murderous intent.

“Die, bastard!” Bill howled, swinging the blade in a wild arc toward Alex’s exposed back.

But Alex moved on instinct—fast, precise, deadly.

For a split second, he forgot to hold back.

His backhand snapped out with raw power, cracking against Bill’s skull with a sickening thud.

A blinding flash of pain exploded through Bill’s skull.

His vision blurred—then vanished—as a sickening crack echoed in his ears.

His neck had snapped. Just like that.

And in the final, fleeting second before the darkness took him, a tidal wave of unbearable regret crashed over him.

He had spent his entire life chasing glory.

Worshiping strength. Sacrificing everything—his time, his peace, even parts of himself—to be the best.

And now, it was over. All of it. Erased by one reckless, stupid swing.

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