Tyranny Of Steel Novels & Stories

But Verena didn't realise that, it was the day the Tyrant was born. And it was there that his obsession grew, grew, and grew some more.

"At your age I had you and your brothers, led a company on my own and thrived! You are 30, alone and losing money! They are choosing the Iain's Enterprise over yours, and you are doomed to fail like your miserable good for nothing father! You are dragging our – my – name into the mud, you blind idiot you!" Michael furrowed his brows so much, that he looked aggressive. "I'm blind? How about you open your eyes?! Where am I losing money? When did they chose any company over mine?! I have at least two hundred clients a day and the demands keep on rising! We have so much work that this company is understaffed!"

The man who bought me for five hundred million dollars wasn’t just rich. He was powerful. Victor placed his hand on my shoulder. Warm. Heavy. “Starting today,” he said quietly, “you will live in this mansion.” I looked up at the magnificent building—marble walls, towering pillars, enormous gleaming windows. It looked like a palace. But even a palace is still a prison if you can’t go home. In my heart, I made a promise to Mom— I will endure. I will wait patiently while I search for a way to escape. And when Mom comes… I will run with her.

Zach tries to tell me. “Okay, little boy, well then,” I change my tone to a more serious one and I hold his hands. “I think your father needs to reconsider who he leaves the title Alpha to. An Alpha cannot act this way, even at 4 years old. A Tyrant will lose, every single time. And the way you are acting, is the way a Tyrant behaves.” “What is a Tyrant?” Tony asks me, but Betty answers. “A tyrant is someone who will not listen to others, who believes their word is the only law and acts before thinking everything all the way through,” Betty explains, kneeling beside me, so we are both looking into our sons’ eyes.

"It’s funny... to us, that phrase is just a natural law of physics, like gravity or the turning of the tides. But I was reading the ancient war journals last night. There was a time when that concept was considered a radical, dangerous idea." "It was dangerous to tyrants," Joran chuckled, his eyes crinkling. "A tyrant can easily break a single, isolated person. They can use fear to make neighbors suspect one another, to make families turn inward out of survival. But when a community decides that another person's suffering is their own? When a village looks at a broken, struggling soul and says, 'You do not carry this weight alone'—then the tyrant loses all leverage. That was the real weapon

Titan was tired. He was physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted. The Golden Truce pack was even more disorganised and crazier than he'd ever dreamed. Clearly, Roman Woodsen had never truly exhibited the rules of a true bonafide leader at all. What he was, was an unapologetic tyrant.

someone gasped, the sound ragged and torn from dry lungs. Elias wasn't alone on the roof. Behind him, bursting through the same reinforced steel doors he had used, came the "Tyrants." They were a collection of the city's most corrupt corporate elites, private security bosses, hedge fund managers, and men who believed that power was something you could simply purchase or take by force. They had chased the boys up the eighty-story tower, their security forces clearing the way, their private helicopters circling like vultures, all intending to capture the anomaly for themselves. They were the architects of the modern world’s misery, the men who thrived on the "glass" that the prophecy had promi

"You believed your gold could buy you an exemption from the hybrid reign. You believed you could fund a mercenary army to contest my coronation. Let it be known across every border of this continent: your wealth is my property. Your status is entirely dead. If you surrender your ledgers tonight, you live to serve the vanguard. If you hide behind your locks, your entire lineage ends in the ashes of this vault." The guild master looked up from the floor of the smoking treasury, his face twisted in a mixture of aristocratic pride and pure terror, his voice cracking as he shouted toward the steps. "You are tyrants! The southern syndicates will dismantle your trade lines before the first harvest!

My vision burry as I slowly open my eyes to face the consequences of my impulsive actions. Turning my head, my stomach dropped. Dark eyes. Evil grin. Husky voice. “Good fucking girl”