Chapter 90
last update2025-05-02 22:43:18

"You need to uninstall that app right now," Kloe said to her best friend, trying to snatch the phone from her hands. However, Lix was much faster and managed to hide it behind her back.

"I think the one who’s gone completely crazy is you. Besides, it can’t be deleted. It’s one of the terms and conditions you agree to when you download the app. Besides, who would want to delete a goldmine like this?" Lix said, feeling the euphoria rush through her veins.

"It could be a pirated app with a virus. The money might not even be real. Or worse, it could be foreign criminals trying to launder money, and now you’re their accomplice," Kloe exclaimed as she tried again to grab the phone from Lix.

"That’s enough, Kloe!" Lix shouted seriously and definitively. "I think you worry too much, but I never asked you to take care of me like a child. Besides... there are more important things you should be worried about," she said, gesturing with her mouth toward the giant screen where Alec Walton and Mira
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    The city still bore the scars of the savage war that had been waged the night before. Everyone powered down their devices when the buzz of drones in the sky faded into the fog. The prize from the Euphoria app’s tournament was not just a promise—it was a door. A door to an existential plane where the elite millionaires resided. Those who bent the system to their will: the Spiritual World. It was a ruthless realm, a slaughterhouse where only the most lethal could succeed and move forward—where the elite who controlled the Absolute Millionaire System lived. They were the rule-makers, the whisperers behind the curtain, those who wove euphoria into the reality of the city below.At the heart of this Spiritual World stood the Citadel, an elegant place built of gold and gleaming crystal, adorned with the most expensive diamonds on the planet. Within its walls, the elite millionaires—the masterminds who had reached the highest ranks of the system—lived in unimaginable luxury, their every whim

  • Chapter 146

    The interior of Jean Graham's shattered bunker reeked of burnt gunpowder and molten metal. Morning light filtered through the cracks in the ceiling, revealing the chaos left by the battle. Graham, his clothes soaked in blood and his body lacerated, dragged himself back to his operations room. Every movement was agony—a price he was forced to pay in order to win a battle in the brutal war he had been thrown into. But a powerful survival instinct kept him going.Without hesitation, Graham threw himself onto a metal table, his eyes locked on the first aid kit. His bloodied hands, hardened by years of combat, pulled out a curved needle and thick thread. He stabbed the needle into his own flesh, beginning to stitch himself up, tugging at the torn skin. There were no groans, only a snort. Graham’s face was drenched in sweat and blood. Then he grabbed a syringe he had filled with a potent painkiller and injected it directly into his uninjured thigh, the cold liquid burning through his veins.

  • Chapter 145

    The roar of armored engines tore through the stillness of the city night. It wasn’t the usual sounds of a city in celebration, but a heavy, blood-chilling noise. From the highest windows, one could see the column of black vehicles emerging from the Walton Mansion—a caravan of armored trucks advancing down the avenues.Dozens of armored SUVs, each packed with heavily armed men, were an unmistakable sign. Theo Walton’s men were on the move.A chill swept through the streets. People who had just begun opening their night businesses or heading out to dance stopped cold. There was no need for screams or alarms. The entire city knew what this display meant. It was the march of death. Doors slammed shut, blinds dropped, and storefronts pulled down their heavy metal shutters with a crash. The few pedestrians scattered like ants, seeking refuge in alleyways, behind dumpsters, or simply flattening themselves against the walls, wishing to become invisible. They knew that when Walton’s private ar

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  • Chapter 142

    The air in the cell corridor was rent with a deafening chorus of gunfire. Jack, who had just turned the corner, was greeted by a relentless volley of lead. Rex's cell was in sight, and so were the officers guarding it, their guns spitting fire. There was no time to think, only to react.The million-dollar system in Jack's head activated, flooding his senses with an avalanche of data: bullet trajectories, ricochet angles, officers' movement patterns. His agility, amplified by the neural implant, was supernatural. He hit the ground, rolling with the grace of a feline, bullets whizzing inches above his head. The cold linoleum felt strange against his skin.Rex, inside his cell, screamed as he heard the shooting. He cowered under the grimy metal bed, seeking shelter from the hell that was breaking loose a few feet away. Gunshots echoed off the concrete, ricocheting, creating a sonic chaos that vibrated the air.Jack fired his air pistol. Cork bullets, propelled by the force of the air, st

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