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They called me FIVE

**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. ___________________________________

phoenixhyperion · Urbain
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243 Chs

What heroes should be. 1

LANCE

I wake up to two crimson eyes, translucent skin, small nose and pinkish chapped lips. I gasped. In a second I'm up on feet. Scampering away. Trying to get as much distance as I could get.

"What – you – how?" Seven is leaning closer to my face. Her eyes were inches away from mine. I gulped. I'm suddenly reminded of my dream of her. She really looks like that girl, Efta was it? I don't understand.

The more I ran my eyes on her, the less I'm convinced they are the same person. Efta could passed as her ancestor. And because they looked very much alike, I'm smacked into the body of that dead guy. My soul, rejoining his body. I cringed.

That experience wasn't pleasant. I could go to any girl. Just not Seven. She's more of a little sister material. Who creeps to your bedroom at night, spying the dirty little things you do, waiting for the right time to threaten you and tell Dad.

Speaking of girls, I forgot to ask.