Cannon Legacy Novels & Stories

Emma poured herself a drink and handed one to Ryan, exclaiming, "Mother, you were brilliant today! Announcing Ryan as the successor was a masterstroke!" Catherine smiled, sipping her wine. "Thank you, dear. I knew it was the perfect moment to secure our family's future." Ryan thanked his mother, adding, "You've secured my future as CEO. I won't let you down." Catherine set her wine cup down and walked over to her children. "As long as I'm alive, no one will ever snatch what rightfully belongs to our family. The Winston legacy will continue to thrive, and I'll make sure of it."

Just the man I saved—and the man who was currently breaking my heart. ​"What are you doing here, Mr. Cromwell?" I asked, my voice trembling. "The 'Legacy' is inside." ​"The Legacy is a lie," he said, taking a step into the moonlight. "And you shouldn't be talking to Velez. He’s a vulture, Hannah. He doesn't want your talent. He wants to take the only thing I have left that's real." ​He didn't call me 'Martin.' He didn't mention the footage. He just stood there, the distance between us filled with the things he was too proud to say.

A legacy is the title of the immortals. The immortals like us, the Vampires that stand the test of time. We build our legacy piece by piece, so maybe the whole world will remember us or maybe just a couple of people, but you do what you can to make sure you are still around after you are gone.

Its 20mm cannon had been gagged for decades by a concrete bung, and its firing pin taken and stored in a military museum somewhere inland. Mr Miller had introduced Lucas to Little Bertha on his first visit three years ago, a way of showing that the old man’s bark was worse than his bite. And on that first visit a younger Lucas found himself sitting on the worn leather seat, staring through the webbed gun sight, mounted on the long, slim muzzle, and imagining the sky crammed with screaming Luftwaffe aircraft, as Little Bertha responded with her big booming voice. These days Lucas remained awed by the pervading sense of history associated with the redundant weapon. Merely being in its presence

// A/N: *mes pattes* is cajun slang for " my paws, or feet" BIG ANNOUNCMENT! Legacy is now available on multiple platforms, I will leave details on my Facebook page @facebook.com/danger.beanz.3 Happy Reading <3

My eyes were locked entirely on the massive, structural anomaly at the far end of the canyon. The Crimson Engine. It was a monstrous, terrifying piece of artillery. The barrel was made of heavily bolted Starved Iron, fifty feet long and ten feet wide, angled upward toward the eastern horizon. The base of the cannon was connected to a massive, pressurized hydraulic chamber, where localized abyssal water was being violently compressed by a series of heavy steam-pistons. The metal of the barrel was glowing a dull, angry red. The ambient air around the gun was visibly warping, the localized gravity already buckling under the sheer hydrostatic tension building inside.

Daniel met his gaze steadily. “Legacy.” Silence. Because governance warfare is temporary. Market pressure fluctuates. Capital influence shifts. But legacy Legacy defines permanence. And permanence is built long before transition. Lewis gave a small nod. “Then we build it.” No rush. No coercion. No acceleration. Just alignment. Outside, the skyline shimmered as it always had. But inside Anderson Holdings Power had stabilized. Not because conflict ended. But because credibility won. And credibility, once proven under fire Becomes untouchable.

The cold metal casing of the flare gun pressed against my palm, and I steadily aimed the muzzle at the silver metal canister marked "AF-001". "Martin, are you sure you want to take it this far?" My voice trembled from the cold, but my tone was resolute. On the other end of the walkie-talkie, Martin Clay's laughter stopped abruptly. This was followed by Lilian Saunders' panicked voice saying, "Sierra, don't be impulsive! T-That can't be messed with recklessly!"

~ CASPIAN ~ By afternoon, every living soul in my pack is getting ready for war. I'm in the armory, helping Callan ensure the weapons are properly distributed and arranged in order. Bombs. Grenades. Cannons. Wolfsbane gunpowder. Missile systems. Anything that can help defeat the enemy. The warriors around us are gearing up already, some loading more guns and explosives into different giant boxes.

"Is that what you thought? That sleeping with a woman would somehow rewire my brain? My heart? That you could fuck the gay out of me?" "No Lancaster man has ever had such desires before." His voice turns dangerously quiet, like the calm before a tornado. "Five generations of honorable men, building a legacy you seem determined to destroy." My hands clench into fists so tight my nails draw blood from my palms. "So that's it? I'm a genetic mistake? The first Lancaster to break your precious mold?"