Victories Greater Than Death Novels & Stories

Suddenly, his hand caught my throat instead of the other lady's, raising me off the ground as she fell to her knees, gasping for air as the other woman was suddenly dropped by his hand. As I struggle to breathe, I claw at his hand in an attempt to break myself from his hold. At the same time, I can feel the bones in my throat beginning to shatter, and I can see blackness forming on the periphery of my vision. Laughing to myself, I wonder why I'm fighting it, death. If he squeezes the life out of me, I will be spared the worst atrocities I know he has planned for me. I am fighting death. As my limbs become increasingly burdened, I wait for the experience to come to an end.

She had called his honesty out for what it was the first crack in the ice around his carefully armored heart. He moved to the window, staring at the skyline, watching the first hints of dawn stretch across the horizon. Victory had always looked like control, like contracts signed, secrets exposed, enemies toppled. But standing here now, he realized that triumph was no longer a matter of numbers or documents. Triumph meant surviving the cost of his own heart and the potential loss of hers.

Mama narrowed her eyes as she hit lightly on my back with the rolling pin, "At least respect your mother and don't curse in front of me." I huffed, I barely cursed but some people tended to grate on my nerves. Rolling my eyes, I let myself out of the bed, "Whoever this god is, we will make him eat his words. He is so gonna regret it." "Just don't go near him," Mama sighed as she watched me brush my teeth, "He is a Victor." My eyebrows scrunched as I met her eyes through the mirror, "The Victors?" She nodded. "Why would Victors come to our restaurant?" My voice was muffled as I looked back at her, "They're rich and super snobby. They don't eat in local eatella."

Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win. -Sun Tzu * * * MATEO So today something big will happen. By big I mean war. War full of blood and dead bodies. The Red mafia crossed us and today is the day to show them what we are capable of and what we do to those who cross us. They killed a lot of my men in Europe, and not only that, they also killed the family of someone I know.

Just the silence of death. I stood over him, chest heaving, soaked in blood—not all his—and raised my muzzle to the sky. I howled. Not in mourning. In victory. Behind me, warriors stirred. Cries echoed. The battlefield moved again. But I didn’t look away from Victor’s corpse. Because I knew, right then, with every trembling breath: The war had turned. And this time… it turned because I stopped running from who I was. The White Wolf didn’t just rise. She ruled.

"The compound's ours. Your guards are down. You have nothing left except that trigger." "That trigger is everything. That trigger is forty-seven lives. That's enough." "For what? What's your endgame here? You're dying. You're surrounded. Even if we let you leave, where do you go? How long do you last?" "Long enough to win. Long enough to prove my point. Long enough to make my statement." "What statement?" "That even dying, even at the end, Catherine Cross doesn't lose. She wins. Always." Marcus stepped closer. "You already lost. Look around. Your compound's taken. Your people are dead. You're dying of cancer. Where's the victory?"

“Rest all is nothing. Nothing substitutes life ever again. I repeat: We stand tall against the disease that causes death of the human race. We will not die with ease. We won’t accept our end. Hey! Gods, if you cannot fight for us, we will break the limits of human trends and fight back. Fight back on face of every illness that repeats in the human race. We cannot die with grace, for we can only live for praise, with praise.” “Each day, each of these days, we will excel, excel beyond the grip of death over our neck, over our face. Hey Gods, if you cannot fight for our lives, we will still not give disease a place. Death has no place, for death has no place in him who decides her own ways, her

Not even my own mother. They said I was traumatized by the father's death. Delusional. A liar. They thought he had no reason to kill father and an assassin must have done it. And when I kept insisting, they called me cursed. Mad. The Mad Prince of NightWalker. And when I became king they upgraded the title to the Mad king. I never forgot that betrayal and I wore the title like an armour. I watched. I waited. And on the day of my coronation ceremony, I drove a dagger of my own into that traitor’s chest—this time in front of the same Elders and Pack members who once mocked me.

I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Now I understood. Ken had sacrificed me to keep Victor safe. A fierce will to survive surged through me. I grabbed the fork off the table and stabbed it at the man reaching for me. “Ah!” The man screamed, and the next second, we were fighting. I fought for my life. Curses filled my ears, and I lost count of how many times they hit and kicked me. Then the pain became too much. Someone struck my ear hard, and everything rang. When I woke up again, I couldn’t hear anything out of my left ear.

FREYA’S POV Victory doesn’t feel the way I imagined it would. I used to think winning would feel loud. Like relief crashing through me all at once. Like certainty. Like joy. But standing here now, I realize victory is quiet. It doesn’t cheer. It doesn’t celebrate. It just leaves you alone with what’s left behind, forcing you to look at it without flinching. It doesn’t surge or warm or settle gently in my chest. It tastes like ash, sharp and bitter, clinging to the back of my throat no matter how many times I swallow. We won. Asher is dead. The war is over.