The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 347

Word of the duel between Michael "The Thunder Fist" and Alex—the unknown underdog mocked as "the Loser"—had swept across Paris like wildfire.

Crowds thirsty for blood and spectacle poured into the city, drawn by the promise of ruthless entertainment.

Everyone knew Michael as the ruthless enforcer for the Guise family, the governor's personal executioner.

No one had ever survived a fight after crossing the Guise clan.

Eager to witness the carnage firsthand, spectators had arrived at the arena gates before dawn, waiting impatiently for entry.

Alex stood at the front gate of the Paris arena, his eyes wide in shock. "I never expected such a massive crowd."

Lyra stood beside him, shaking her head.

“This place usually puts on dull fights just to keep the crowd mildly entertained.”

“But when Michael enters the ring, it turns into a bloodthirsty spectacle. People pack the arena not to cheer—but to watch someone die. No one’s ever left alive after facing him.”

"Seriously, no one?" Alex asked, disbelief edging his voice.

"Never. All referees here answer to the Guise family," Lyra explained grimly.

"In Paris, the Guise family’s word is law. If they say left, no one dares say right."

Alex smirked, determination flaring in his eyes. "Then wouldn't it be humiliating if they lost?"

Lyra’s eyebrows arched skeptically. "Lost? Are you actually confident you can beat him?"

"You doubt me?" Alex challenged.

Lyra leaned in, lips curving into a sly smile.

"Not exactly. But the betting odds are twenty-to-one against you. If you win, my money multiplies twentyfold—and it’s Guise family cash, which makes it even sweeter."

A dangerous gleam lit Alex's eyes. "And if I put down a billion dollars?"

Lyra's eyes widened, her breath catching sharply.

"Do you really have a billion dollars?" she whispered, biting her lip as excitement flushed her cheeks.

"Can you handle the winnings if I do?" Alex replied evenly.

Suddenly, Lyra grabbed his arm tightly, trembling with excitement as her legs squeezed together involuntarily.

Alex frowned in confusion. "What’s wrong with you?"

Her face flushed deeply, tears of overwhelming excitement glittering in her eyes.

"Alex, I think I just climaxed imagining winning twenty billion dollars. Oh, God—there it is again."

Alex shook his head, laughing softly.

"I’ll transfer the funds to you. Just manage them wisely."

"Alex," Lyra murmured breathlessly, her face burning red as she looked up at him, "Do you mind if we make love before the fight? I don't think I can hold myself back anymore."

Alex raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness. "Maybe I should cancel the transfer."

Lyra's overheated body instantly turned cold, as though doused in ice water. "What? No!"

Alex burst into laughter. "See? You can handle it."

Realizing she'd been tricked, Lyra punched his arm playfully.

"Damn you, Alex! Don't mess with me like that!"

Around them, the Paris Arena surged with anticipation, a ten-thousand-seat coliseum packed to the rafters.

Alex surveyed the arena floor, noticing other fighters still locked in brutal, unresolved conflicts.

Here, violence was routine—a quick and savage way to settle scores between rivals, gangs, or businesses.

Lyra walked confidently beside Alex, weaving through the crowd as they made their way straight toward the VIP section of the arena.

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