1997 — Somewhere in Eastern Europe
The world didn’t change in a day.
It changed in silence.
There were no headlines. No televised invasions. Just the slow unravelling of global order, pulled apart thread by thread by hands no one could see.
It began in fire.
A forgotten village. A massacre erased from every official record.
A boy with a broken body and nothing left to lose crawled from the ruins—eyes already colder than the men who lit the match.
They called themselves mercenaries. Professionals. Soldiers without borders.
But he remembered their faces.
Their tactics.
Their indifference.
What the world failed to understand was this:
He remembered everything.
He disappeared.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The world moved on.
But in the shadows, the boy became something else.
Something the powerful would one day learn to fear.
Dev Malik.
Known in whispers as Rex—the Ghost King.
No citizenship. No fingerprints. No history.
Only results.
He built Dominion not like a gang or a syndicate, but like a virus—spreading silently, infecting banks, governments, cartels, and corporations. His inner circle was small, loyal, and lethal. Each one a weapon designed for a specific war. Each one trusted with a slice of his empire.
Together, they didn’t take the world by force.
They took it by design.
Across oceans and boardrooms, those who lost their grip on power began to whisper another name—The Aurelian Pact. A reactionary alliance of broken nations, powerful businessmen, and compromised politicians.
People who once ruled the world.
Now watching it slip through their fingers.
They wanted order.
Retribution.
Blood.
But they were playing catch-up in a game that had already ended.
Because by the time they understood what Dominion was…
Rex had already rewritten the rules.
This is not a war you’ll read about.
There are no heroes here.
Only predators.
And the world?
It’s already been claimed.
