The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 408

The police were already flooding the street, circling the Kingsley and the hundreds of thugs on their knees.

And still the sirens wailed, growing louder, closer—it felt like the entire Vancouver force was descending on that street.

The night of reckoning had drawn every badge in the city.

Max Capone shouted in panic, his voice cracking with desperation.

“Please—help us! These people are insane, killing and hurting innocent men like us! Please, good officers, save us!”

From the sidelines, the citizens watching spat their fury.

“Again? Those fucking cops coming to save their asses?” one growled.

“I filed reports—nothing ever happened. The cops just sat with the thugs, counting our money together.”

Another citizen shook his head bitterly.

“We pay taxes to feed the police… then we pay extortion to feed the thugs. In the end, we’re nothing but livestock for them both.”

Alex smiled wide, his voice thundering across the night, cutting through the cries of the crowd.

“So, the police finally crawl out from their holes—to stand beside their sugar daddies.”

His glare burned into their uniforms.

“You should hang your heads in shame. That badge you wear was meant to guard the innocent, but you’ve used it to shield criminals.”

“You shut your eyes to drug deals, to extortion, to blood spilled on these streets. You opened prison doors for men who should have rotted away in chains, and you left the weak to cry alone.”

His voice grew sharper, deeper, each word landing like a hammer.

“You don’t serve justice—you auction it to the highest bidder. You betrayed the very hands that lifted you into power. For silver and comfort, you sold your oath. For money, you damned this city and let it bleed.”

“Shut up, you criminal!” the lead officer shouted, and instantly every gun was raised, barrels locked on the Kingswell. The air grew thick, bristling with gunmetal tension.

Across the shattered pavement, the Chicago Outfit grinned like jackals in the dark.

Their protectors had arrived—nothing to fear now. These strange men who dared defy them would rot in jail, and soon enough, die there.

Max burst into laughter, loud and giddy, his face twisting with cruel delight.

“You’re finished, Alex! You hear me? Dead! Every last one of you! The police are here, and they’re ours. Once you’re thrown behind bars, we’ll be waiting for you every damn day—teaching you what real fear tastes like.”

“You think you can fight them? The cops are our dogs! Do you know how many guns are aimed at you right now? You’re already dead, Alex. Dead! Mark my words!”

“Hands up!” the lead officer barked through a megaphone. “Do it now, or we open fire!”

Carlos stepped forward, calm in his tailored suit, his voice rich with conviction.

“We are the eyes and the hands of the King. We have sworn our oath. Beneath the sky, beneath the heavens—though hell itself should rise—we bow to no one but the Creator.”

“We fear no man, no beast, no devil. Let the world remember—the demon should fear us.”

The commander sneered. “Not tonight. Tonight you bow to me!”

Before the echo faded, Alex released a surge of raw force.

An unseen pressure crushed the air, and in a heartbeat, every officer was driven to their knees.

Their guns quaked in their hands, barrels twisting upward to press against their own foreheads, as if unseen fingers had curled around the triggers—ready to end them with a single pull.

The weight was unbearable, suffocating—the taste of death sat on their tongues.

Five Kingswell men strode forward, each holding documents.

One knelt beside a young officer, resting a steady hand on his trembling shoulder.

“You don’t belong here,” he said firmly. “You’ve chosen justice before, and justice now protects you. Go home to your family. Leave this place of damnation.”

The crushing weight vanished from the officer’s chest. His arm fell free, and he staggered to his feet, gasping for breath like a drowning man breaking the surface at last.

“But… you’re—” the officer began, until his eyes caught the insignia on the man’s jacket. His breath faltered. The mark was unmistakable.

“The Kingswell,” he whispered. A hush rippled through the line of cops.

They knew the symbol. It meant one thing: stand down.

No one outranked them.

One by one, the honest officers holstered their weapons, exchanged knowing looks, and backed away.

Engines roared as patrol cars pulled from the scene.

They were police.

They knew which of their brothers still stood true—and which had long ago sold their souls.

That left the corrupt, the ones everyone had waited too long to see purged, the ones who had dragged the badge into shame.

Even among the police, relief stirred. Some felt their eyes sting with tears.

Because of them, the honest ones carried the weight of a bad name—blamed for sins they never committed.

“Finally,” one whispered, voice breaking, “someone has come to cleanse the parasites that disgraced us. At last… we can breathe again.”

***

The crooked officers, faces pale and slick with sweat, now stood exposed. Their karma had come to collect, and there was no shield left.

Alex’s voice was ice.

“Strip them. Fire them from their posts. They chose money over justice, betrayal over duty. They belong to the Outfit now. And like the Outfit—they will die with it.”

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