The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 313

The arena fell deathly silent. Jaxon knelt in the dusty center, head bowed like a penitent sinner.

He finally lifted his gaze, jaw tight with reluctant respect.

“You're one hell of a fighter,” he growled, voice rough with pride and defeat. “I yield.”

“What the hell did he say?” gasped someone from the audience.

Murmurs exploded around the arena like wildfire, disbelief sparking through the crowd.

“He hasn't even thrown a punch! He walked to the arena just to kneel? Did the Kingstons pay him off?”

Zane surged to his feet, eyes blazing with fury.

“What kind of cowardly shit is this, Jax? A Chicago Lord never bows down! Kill the damn janitor now!”

“Shut your mouth, Zane!” Jaxon snapped back fiercely, eyes ablaze.

“There's honor in knowing when you're beaten. He's the real deal. If he’d wanted, I’d be lying dead in the dirt right now.”

The crowd froze, trying to decipher the bitter truth hidden in Jaxon’s eyes.

Zane’s face twisted in rage.

“Bullshit! You didn’t even fight him! Are you seriously bowing to a cleaning boy? You're embarrassing the whole damn city!”

Jaxon’s eyes hardened, burning with defiance.

“Step up yourself, then. See how fast you hit the dirt.”

“I’ll show you fools how a real man handles business,” Zane snarled, storming into the arena, pride blinding him from reason.

The stakes couldn’t be higher—his entire future hinged on this moment.

The legendary profits from the Emerald Elixir were within reach, but only if he succeeded. One misstep, and it would all collapse. He couldn’t afford to lose. Not now.

The janitor—Alex—watched calmly, mask shadowing his face, sunglasses reflecting nothing but cold indifference.

“Stepping onto this floor means you've accepted death as a possible outcome. No complaints if you don't walk away.”

“Threaten me?” Zane spat venomously, puffing up his chest.

“Do you even know who you’re dealing with? I’m Zane Hernandez, heir of the goddamn Chicago Lords!”

Alex stood unmoved, his voice slicing the tension like a razor.

“Then let me introduce myself. I'm the guardian of Vancouver. Anyone who touches what's ours faces hell itself.”

Zane staggered, suddenly gasping as an invisible force seized his throat.

His knees buckled, eyes bulging in panic, and he collapsed hard onto the dirt.

Chicago’s medics scrambled desperately, voices frantic. “His heart’s stopped! Get CPR going, now!”

The arena erupted into chaos—fear and awe colliding into a volatile wave.

Every jaw dropped. Fear silenced the stands completely.

The message was clear: Vancouver had chosen its champion, and death awaited anyone reckless enough to cross his path.

Alex remained utterly composed.

He grabbed his mop, snapping it effortlessly until only a deadly shard remained. Without hesitation, he hurled it like a spear across the arena.

The splintered shaft punctured through Charles’ shoulder, pinning him brutally to his seat, blood spurting violently onto stunned spectators.

Charles was screaming in pain.

Alex stood tall in the middle of the arena, eyes narrowed with raw menace.

His voice, deep and cold as steel, cut through the noise without the aid of a microphone.

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