Chapter 42: Blood on the East River

The blast doors of the UN General Assembly didn't just open—they vanished in a blinding fireball as Adrian’s shoulder-mounted plasma launcher obliterated two tons of reinforced steel.

The heat wave hit Mari like a physical slap, sending a wicked surge of adrenaline straight to her core.

"Dibs on the delegates!" Adrian roared, charging through the smoke like a nine-foot tall, heavily armored tank.

Inside, the iconic green-carpeted hall of the General Assembly was pure, unadulterated chaos. Remaining warlords and corrupt diplomats were scrambling over overturned mahogany desks, firing automated rifles with the panicked accuracy of blind toddlers.

"Ah, classic international relations," Ren drawled over the comms, sliding down the brass handrail of the central balcony while dual-wielding silenced submachine guns. He put three rounds through a warlord's helmet mid-air, landing lightly on the main speaker’s podium. "I vote we reject their draft resolution."

Mari sprinted straight down the central aisle, her matte-black armor clinging tightly to her curves, humming with kinetic energy. A warlord in full tactical gear lunged at her with a combat knife. Mari caught his wrist, slammed her thigh aggressively between his legs, and used his own momentum to flip him face-first into the podium, cracking the marble slab in two.

"You're out of order!" she barked, putting a plasma bolt through his rear plate just for good measure.

To her left, Kael was having far too much fun. He grabbed a suit-and-tie warlord by the collar, spun him around, and shoved him headfirst into a glowing holographic display of the global trade routes. "Look at the numbers!" Kael laughed hysterically, punching him in the gut. "Market's crashing, baby!"

Sera glided through the crossfire like a frost-coated shadow, her plasma blades turning the Security Council chamber into a frozen butcher shop. She ducked under a spray of heavy gunfire, grabbed a mercenary by his tactical vest, and dragged him backward onto the polished floor.

"Cold shoulder?" Sera purred, freezing his chest piece solid before smashing it into a hundred glittering shards with her elbow.

"Guys, less banter, more crushing!" Adrian yelled from the front of the room. He had a 300-pound warlord in a headlock with one hand while using his heavy plasma cannon to obliterate a sniper nest in the press gallery with the other. The recoil shook his massive frame, his muscles bulging under his combat harness as he let out a thunderous, throat-tearing growl.

He tossed the warlord over his shoulder like a sack of wet laundry right into Lena, who was crouching at the foot of the podium. Lena didn't even flinch—she drove a combat spike straight through the man's chest plate, looking up at Mari with wide, breathless eyes. "Did I do good, Queen?"

"Magnificent, little bird," Mari purred, stepping over a pile of smoking debris and grabbing Adrian by the tactical harness on his chest.

She pulled his massive, blood-spattered face down to hers, slamming her lips against his in a hard, dirty, adrenaline-soaked kiss. Adrian groaned deep in his chest, his massive hand cupping the back of her neck, squeezing so hard her teeth clicked. He tasted like gunsmoke and copper, his body radiating enough raw, furious heat to burn right through her armor.

"Take the high seat," Adrian panted against her mouth, his dark eyes blazing with feral satisfaction as he gestured toward the main podium where the UN Secretary-General used to sit.

Mari broke the kiss with a wicked grin, stepping up the dais and slumping into the massive leather chair. She crossed her legs, leaning her chin on her hand as the last echoing gunshots died down, leaving the legendary hall littered with smoke, shattered glass, and groaning warlords.

Ren tapped his wrist console, bridging their feed to every satellite remaining in orbit. "We're live worldwide, boss. What’s the official policy statement?"

Mari looked straight into the floating broadcast drone, a lethal, seductive smile spreading across her face.

"Effective immediately," Mari purred, her voice echoing through millions of screens across the planet, "the United Nations is permanently under new management. Welcome to the Roman Empire. Pay your taxes on time, or Adrian pays you a personal visit."