Sacremon (Harmony War Series Book 1)

Prologue

            Chapter 1

            Chapter 2

            Chapter 3

            Chapter 4

            Chapter 5

            Chapter 6

            Chapter 7

            Chapter 8

            Chapter 9

            Chapter 10

            Chapter 11

            Chapter 12

            Chapter 13

            Chapter 14

            Chapter 15

            Chapter 16

            Chapter 17

            Chapter 18

            Chapter 19

            Chapter 20

            Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Prologue

           
Home for Youth, West Complex Three,

           
Earth, Sol

           
3/3127

           
Mark looked to Tyler, his brother. They weren’t related by blood but they’d watched each other's backs for as long as they had been alive. When they turned eight they picked their last name, they’d both gone with Victor, cementing their brotherhood.

           
Now a year later it was time they left their prison, otherwise known as the government funded home for youth.

           
“Clear,” Mark said, his voice low, whispering was for amateurs, people were more likely to pick up on the hissing noises.

           
Mark moved from his position, knowing Tyler was behind him, their steps were silent as they passed Marty Choi the night watchman. A small, but angry man. When you were twelve years old or younger, it didn’t matter if Marty was massive or small. He was still bigger than you and knew how to give a beating for being out of bed.

           
Mark flowed through rooms, using the shadows as cover while they moved from the second floor down to the first, towards the kitchen.

           
A light came on ahead. Mark and Tyler pressed underneath a cart to their side.

           
Mark saw Tyler’s face, determined as his own.

           
Marty came out of the kitchen, having fixed himself a sandwich he walked through the halls. He was tossing his baton carelessly between both hands, fiddling with the thing.

           
Mark felt his chest tighten as Marty walked right down the hall Mark and Tyler were hiding in.

           
Tyler squeezed Mark’s calf, signalling he’d back Mark’s play.

           
Mark didn’t move, his breath catching as Marty passed their cart with a tuneless hum. His humming faded, his light doing so a few moments later.

           
Mark moved his head a few inches, trying to watch where Marty had gone.

           
The corridor was empty and Marty nowhere to be seen.

           
“Let’s go,” Mark said his voice still low as he and Tyler got to their feet and continued on their route.

           
They got to the kitchen, pulling rags over their mouths and rough goggles they’d made from food containers over their eyes.

           
The goggles itched something fierce, and scratched the sides of their face, but for the next part they’d need it.

           
Mark could feel his adrenaline spike as he walked to the delivery door where food was brought into the home.

           
Mark saw the grin on Tyler’s face, feeling it on his own face.

           
They tapped forearms, a gesture they only used with one another.

           
Mark took a few breaths, looked to Tyler, getting the nod.

           
He threw open the door, a siren went off as Tyler rushed out first and Mark rushed right behind him, out into the swirling rust clouds of Mother Earth.

           
Mark and Tyler pumped their legs and ran fueled by adrenaline and desperation.

           
They might be nine, but they had been in orphanages for their entire lives. The strong won and the weak lost. Whether the strong be the older kids, or the people running the orphanage who only cared about their credits. If a kid stepped out of line, a beating or going without food was the norm.

           
You grew up fast in those walls; Mark and Tyler were done with it.

           
They reached across the street, when they heard yelling. Marty had reached the delivery door.

           
Too late,
Mark thought as Tyler jumped onto one wall, and up to another wall, clambering onto the roof. Mark followed, they kept running.

           
West Complex three was a mismatch of old buildings with shacks resting up against them and one another. The major color was rust red, the building’s bricks were made from rust dust, and anything that tried to have a different color quickly got covered in a thick homogenous coat.

           
Neon signs showed where bars and flesh clubs lay.

           
People shifted through the streets, covering against the dust storms that covered Earth.

           
Mark and Tyler had only seen the city from a distance, now they ran over it, jumping from tin roofs to red dust formed patios.

           
“I think we’re good,” Tyler said in a rush between breaths. They were inside what had been a parking garage; lean-to’s and flimsy shelters laid everywhere, cutting down the wind and dust.

           
“Yeah,” Mark said, careful to not remove his rag. There was dust everywhere and breathing it in would just turn him into a coughing wreck.

           
“What
do
we have here?” Someone said, slowly walking up on Tyler and Mark.

           
There were three others with them. Goggles, masks and thick clothes hid their sex. It didn’t hide the makeshift blade in the talker’s hand.

           
“We don’t want any trouble,” Mark said, stepping up beside Tyler, they were both at least a foot and a half shorter than the shortest member of the group who was fanning out around the two.

           
“Oh I do like you, the sex shops are going to
love
you,” the talker said, laughs came from the other three.

           
Mark saw people moving away from the commotion, hiding in their tents, or turning their backs.

           
It was all for yourself in the slums.

           
Just like the orphanage,
Mark thought.

           
Mark and Tyler had put their noses into more than one altercation. They didn’t fight the adults, that would only get them a bigger beating and there were more adults. Once they got to a new orphanage they were known to put most bullies down, if they could.

           
It had been a painful road, more than one broken bone proved that, but they had become decent fighters out of necessity.

           
“Fox, Miller, grab them,” the talker said.

           
Tyler and Mark looked to one another. Tyler held out his arm, Mark felt something dark and cold fill his body, determination and anger, he tapped Tyler’s arm with his own and they faced outwards, side by side.

           
“Ohh, look at that, you have a little ritual, maybe they’ll keep you together to please the old men and women from mega city,” the talker laughed, it sent a shiver down Mark’s back.

           
The shortest one, Fox, was coming towards Mark. His hands were out, reaching to grab Mark.

           
At least I hope it’s a he.

           
Mark let Fox grab him, he let Fox wrap him up.

           
So that Mark could drive his knee into Fox’s groin. Fox’s hands quickly opened, bending over to grasp his grown.

           
Yup, a man.
Mark grabbed the man’s mask and goggles, dragging them down as he drove his fist into the man’s face. Fox’s nose crunched against his fist, blood pouring from his face.

           
Fox stumbled, backwards, reaching into his clothes.

           
Mark felt a new surge of adrenaline; he rushed Fox, grabbing his hand before he could pull it out. Slamming against him to jar Fox’s hand.

           
Fox let out a gasp and Mark felt wetness around the blade.

           
He pulled backwards, getting a cry from Fox.

           
Fox coughed and then slumped down. Mark held a wet blade in his hand a pool was now forming under Fox’s body.

           
Mark couldn’t focus on Fox, Tyler needed him.

           
Tyler and Miller were in a tousle, the non-speaker was moving to join in.

           
Mark was only a few feet from them; so he quickly closed the distance.

           
Miller raised his hands, Tyler rolled away and Mark slammed his fist into Miller’s temple, the fist with the blade.

           
Miller pointedly froze, Mark pulled his hand back but Fox’s blade stayed in Miller’s head.

           
“You’re going to pay for that, kill them Hume,” the speaker said.

           
Hume didn’t look so confident now, glancing between Tyler and Mark. His eyes rested on Mark as if seeing him with new eyes.

           
Mark was getting pissed off with the itchy damned goggles, their odd shape made it hard to see around the sides. If Hume figured that out there would be hell to pay.

           
Hume seemed to make a decision and moved forward.

           
A cracking sound echoed through the parking garage, Hume looked down to see a hole in his chest, he fell down dead instantly the shock still plainly on his face.

           
Another crack and the speaker’s head disappeared, brains and gore flying everywhere as the body dropped.

           
Five men walked forward, one of them holstering a pistol under his large black duster coat. On his arm there was a black patch with W3C stitched into it with faded white lettering.

           
Mark turned to face the new threats, three moved to check behind them, the shooter stepped forward another standing next to him and watching for any signs of danger.

           
Mark could see their organization and trust in one another. No one turned their back onto someone armed in the slums unless they trusted them.

           
The shooter stood five feet from Mark and squatted down.

           
Mark was ready to rush him if he needed, it would be futile, this man looked dangerous, but Tyler might have a chance.

           
“Hello there, sorry about this mess.” The man waved to the four dead people as if it held little importance. “These four thought that they could start abducting people in our territory. Though it looks like you helped us out a fair bit with those two,” he shifted his chin to point at Fox and Miller.

           
He seemed to wait, seeing if they said anything, sizing them up.

           
“Well I’m Quentin Richter, leader of the Westerly Three Complex crew. What are your names?” He asked, looking to Mark and Tyler.

           
“Tyler!” Tyler said.
Damnit!
Mark thought, he resisted the urge to glower at his younger brother. Never taking his eyes off this strange man.

           
“Hello Tyler,” the man said. Mark could see the man’s mask move as he smiled, “And who are you?” He turned his gaze onto Mark.

           
“Mark,” he sighed.

           
“By your clothes you’re not part of a crew and the way you killed those two I’d say you’re from an orphanage, you look a little young, runaways?” Richter asked. Neither Tyler nor Mark said anything.

           
“Strong silent types, I get it,” Richter said waving the conversation away.

           
“Well if you want to join a crew, come to our compound and tell the people on watch your names.” Richter’s hand went in his duster but he moved it slowly. Mark tensed; Richter pulled four blades from inside his jacket, tossing two at Mark’s feet, the other’s at Tyler’s.