Tyrant's Star Metaphor Novels & Stories

“I told you that you cannot mark some ordinary she-wolf as your mate!” “Many wolves do it!” He glared. “And any she-wolf is better than that worm I had gotten for a mate. And I have taken care of her as well.” Frederick shook his head. “Many wolves may do it. But you are no normal wolf, are you? You are an Alpha. And any she-wolf is better than her? Son, you are talking about the great Alpha Naturale of Crescent Moon Pack. She is no ordinary she-wolf. She holds in her the boon of utmost prosperity.”

The owl was gone. I walked towards the window and looked at the kingdom below. It was peaceful. Too peaceful. How could people laugh beneath the rule of a tyrant. Were they blind? Or was I? Nothing made sense. “It doesn’t matter,” I murmured to myself. “I’ll kill him anyways.” As if it was as easy as I said it. He was stronger. Smart. Always three steps ahead. If I wanted to defeat him, I had to go down to his pathetic level.

Ryker spat blood into the dirt and forced himself up on one knee. His ribs ached and his chest throbbed but none of it compared to the fury burning in his chest. “Orion!” he shouted, his voice sounding hoarse but loud enough to tear through the silence around them. “How the hell did you become the Tyrant?” Orion nodded his head, his grin looking lazy—almost like he was amused, probably by his question. His fingers brushed against his belt as he walked around him, his boots crunching dry leaves beneath him.

Hobby? "Tyler," I murmured, crushing the parchment in my fist. "You think you know me. You think you can predict me. But you've made a mistake." "You've made the mistake of underestimating me. And when I'm done—when I've conquered them all—you'll understand." The smile that curved my lips was dangerous and hungry. "You'll understand that I'm not a pup chasing fights. I'm a wolf building an empire. And empires are built on blood."

People screamed without dying. A tyrant stood at the heart of it all, impaled through the chest by a blade that should have killed him hours ago. But he was still alive. Laughing. “He refuses to end,” Astrael said. “And the people refuse to stop killing him.” Miren whispered, “A loop of violence sustained by hesitation.” The tyrant looked up, and looked directly at Lyra. “You did this,” he croaked, blood bubbling but never spilling. “You made death ask permission.”

“I won’t die for a throne. I won’t rise for one either. I won’t be remembered as another flame that turned into a god.” The sky didn’t answer. But one star blinked into being. Just one. Enough.

His cold eyes met mine as he took me in. I held his eyes and silently pleaded with him as I was forced into the room. He turned away dismissively. “Our last meeting, it seemed like all of you got the wrong impression that I was on the side of the slave. I prepared this feast to appease all of you,” Alejandro announced. “Tonight, she'll be serving all of you like the slave she is and she'll be treated accordingly the way she's supposed to be treated. A tyrant's daughter” My heart sunk.

“Who has it. Who abuses it. Who loses it. That’s our theme today.” “Let’s start easy. Macbeth.” He paces slowly, eyes scanning the room. “How does a man go from war hero to tyrant? What does it take to become the villain?” A girl in the back raises her hand. Tania. One of those girls who flirts with her eyelashes. “Would you say Macbeth was... misled? That maybe he just wanted something too badly?” Lucien raises a brow. “Wanting something doesn’t make you weak. Acting on it without care? That makes you dangerous.”

Aren't you just a plaything? Upon thinking about it, isn't Oakley's life very hilarious? To others, Oakley is a revered star, but deep down he's just a toy that is ready to be cast away anytime. How is Oakley different from those newbie or veteran stars who sell themselves to fat and greasy old adults so they can become or continue being stars? It's just that Albrey Hamilton is a trifling force to be reckoned with, and he's young and handsome. But at the same time, isn't it very disgusting?

They could not comprehend the fire that burned within me, the insatiable hunger for control that consumed my every thought. As I ruled with an iron fist disguised by a velvet glove, my subjects remained captivated by the illusion I had crafted. They reveled in the prosperity and peace that I bestowed upon them, oblivious to the price they paid for their blissful ignorance. The whispers grew louder, the questions more persistent, but I remained indifferent. The Lycan King would continue his charade, his true intentions hidden beneath layers of intrigue and enigma. For the world was mine to conquer, and my subjects were mere pawns in my grand game of power and desire.