phoenixhyperion

**READ ME**

THIS BOOK WILL BE UNDER REVISION.

*******

My name? Lance Augustus
Age? 15
Nickname? Five. 
Why they call me that? Because the mark tells us so. 
_________________________________
"Don't be stupid, steer out of trouble, and whatever happens, stay alive." 

I really don't know why Dad always repeat those words to me everyday. I take heed of his words. Play by his rules, never dared to go against him except if it's extremely necessary.

He's all that I need to get by. Our life was ordinary. Everything was perfectly fine, perfectly normal, just an everyday routine we get used to live. But then this guy calling himself 'The Seeker' came... And he start making a mess out of my life. 

He said I have powers. - Who believe that crap?
He said I have extraordinary abilities. - Cool! I want to be Superman.
He said I was chosen. - Who? The god of newbie bullies? 
The mark of five imprinted deep into my skin proves that I am one of the TWELVE. - You sure it's not a tattoo? I firmly believe it's a tattoo. 

I never believe him. I drove him out. I did not listen. I wish I did. Maybe he could have help me. Maybe he could have save me from the trouble of falling right into their trap. I know nothing. Because of my stubbornness I lost everything. So now I'm all alone. But she stretch her hand to me. She gave me hope. She invited me to come. And I did. 

So our search began. For the remaining TEN.
___________________________________

They called me FIVE

I can feel Seven staring behind me. With my other eyeball on the ground I look at her. She look at me. I tried to telepath with her, not sure if she can hear me, but I told her I got this. She planted her palm on the ground.

Spread a summer breeze warmth that climbs in other half of my head, the one where Dad struck his gleaming sword with. At that instant I knew, why my regeneration didn't work. Why I'm still alive at the same time fail to outgrew my dismembered head.

It's because of her blessing. The sword is bath with it. I vaguely remembered them using her against me. Her power clashes mine, because we're opposite. I shot my hand up in the air. My neck is slowly recovering.

Lista is not paying attention to the gruesome scene of my body outgrowing head at his feet, nor Dad noticing me disintegrating at his shoe. Both are too absorb on their victory. They forgot what my blessing is.

Meeting the deity of death