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Havoc: Spoils of War

Novel By: Entity
Action and adventure

A young man who only wants to stop wandering. A legend of Guardian Eve's, invisible creatures assigned to each living soul on the earth, And a turning point in the young man's life. Havoc Reddon fights for his every right each day on the streets. As a fifteen year old boy he has seen more blood than most men who died at war, most of which was spilled from those who had done the world wrong. This is his story. View table of contents...


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Submitted:Dec 17, 2012    Reads: 19    Comments: 4    Likes: 1   

Havoc: Spoils of War

Chapter 1: When the Blood Dries

He twisted and turned on the sidewalk where he had slept for the past week. Today was the day he had finally decided he would move on. He stood, and shook the dust off his sleeves, brushed off his pants, and stumbled down the street with smile upon his thin lips. The young man is named Havoc Reddon, and though he my appear sickly and broken, he is a strong young man with a seemingly unbreakable spirit. His cheeks were gaunt, and his slim shape gave no hint as to his true skill and strength. Though his face was unknown by most, his name, or rather his nickname, was known throughout most of the world. He is the notorious thief known only as Wreaven, or Swifthand, in the new language. Havoc was honestly surprised when this name appeared, as last he knew, few people were versed at all in the former language.

Today was the day of the Festival of The Guardian Eves. Something about how humans were spawned from creatures far more intelligent than us. Eves are supposed to have died out long ago. Anyway, Havoc didn't care about the reason behind the festival, but he knew that shopkeepers would be distracted. It was the perfect opportunity to "gather" provisions. He began walking down the crowded streets, slipping by unknowing individuals and cutting coin purses every step of the way. Though he had not traversed the city before, Havoc knew exactly where he needed to go. He staggered along toward the northeast city gate, and by nightfall, as this was a particularly large city, he was able to reach the marketplace. The city was alive with crowds and commotion. Perfect cover, he thought. He scanned the area and found a small meat shop right near the city gate.

He walked in, and much to his surprise the shopkeeper seemed wholly uninterested in the festivities. It wouldn't go off without a hitch as he had planned, but Havoc always gets his supplies before he leaves. He smiled and walked in. He looked at the man, who was grimacing at him as he entered. "Have I done something sir?" Havoc inquired as innocently as he could. The man pointed at the top of Havoc's head. "The hat," he said "haven't you ever heard of manners?" "My apologies sir." With that, Havoc browsed the fine selection, all the while, watching the owner closely.

The owner stared daggers at him, responding to each move he made with either a quizzical raising, or angry lowering of his eyebrows. Havoc recognized that his chances of a clean getaway were ruined the second he walked in.It wouldn't be the first time. He walked by a particularly appetizing lookingcut of venison. With a quick check of where the shopkeeper was standing, he snatched up the meat, and started toward the door.

The moment he turned to the door, his face was met with the unbelievably large belly of the shopkeeper. The shopkeepers gut bounced upon impact, and sent Havoc back a few steps into a display shelf. "What do you think you're doing you little rat." All Havoc could manage was a long, drawn out "uhhh," before the shopkeeper grasped his throat, cutting off whatever it was he was going to say. "You think you can run off with my meat huh?" he growled. "Better rethink that." A surprisingly bony knee belonging to the shopkeeper found it's way to his gut, evoking a pained grunt, and a splash of crimson spit from his lips.

The shopkeeper dropped Havoc to the floor, bringing out what was left of the energy Havoc had in the form of a desperate howl of pain. More crimson spit dribbled from his mouth as he tried to pull hismself back to his feet. He returned to his feet and before he could do anything else, a fist connected with his gut, throwing him back to the ground. He attempted again to stand, but failed, falling backward. He passed out almost immediately. When he awoke, he was greeted by the face of the butcher kneeling only inches from his face.

The butcher smiled a wicked smile. "Do you have any clue who you just tried to rob kid." Havoc looked up at the butcher. A thin lipped smirk tore the smile right from his face. "You think I really give a rat's ass." He taunted. "Well you should. I am not only a butcher. I'm a very important man." His grin had returned. "I'll have to fix that," Havoc thought. He spit a splash of crimson in his face. He turned away in disgust, simultaneously drawing back his fist. The fist hit his face and split the skin. Were it not for the two men holding his arms, he would have flown back halfway across the yard.

"Drop his arms!" He ordered. the two men obeyed, letting Havoc fall to the cold ground. He rolled over onto his back, and in no more than a split second, his face was struck with the bottom of a heavy boot. He could barely see through the blood now. His body twitched and writhed involuntarily. Through the red haze, he saw the boot hovering over his head. "Do you want to die boy? Listen to what I have to say." Havoc wanted to spit in his face again, but all he could manage was a small spirt, which only landed back on his own face.

"I guess you really do want to die. Damned fool. We could have learned a lot from eachother. Oh well." He brought the boot down slowly this time. Pressing it firmly against Havocs face, the gravel from the boot scraping and tearing his raw flesh. He reveled in the torture for a few moments, and then lifted his boot for the final blow.

Before he could drop his boot for the last time however, a cane caught the underside of his boot, and pulled him down to the ground with a loud thud, as if a titan had just been felled. Havoc followed the length of the cane to see that was attatched to the arm of a young man. The cane itself was of masterful craft. golden, with gems fixed in either end, one of which was now leaving an unmistakeable mark on the butcher's forehead. The young man was about the same height as Havoc was, and looked very similar, except a couple features. The young man had a short crop of black hair, whereas Havoc's hair was long and brown. The young man had a softer face. Obviously he hadn't taken as many of these beatings as Havoc had. His eyes were his oddest feature, as they appeared to be glowing a bright blue, as if a light eminated from his eyes.

"Remune, Express!" He shouted. His voice was oddly stern. Havocs eyes turned to the shopkeepers, and only for a moment, until he turned away in fear, and unexpected grievance for the butcher. The butcher began to choke and writhe, and blood began to escape his lips, eyes and nose. finally the pain was too much to bear, and he died. A final cough splattered blood just inches from Havocs face.

The young man then walked over and extended the end of the cane to Havoc, who stared wide eyed at the man. "Don't worry. I used the other end on him." Havoc grabbed the cane, and used what energy he could muster to drag himself up. The young man felt Havoc's grip loosening. "No no, don't let go yet." A quizzical expression prompted more words from him. "We will be using this as our mode of travel." with that he repeated. "Remune, Express!"

The wind whirled around them, and the whooshing was the only audible sound. Dust snatched up by the wind felt similar to letter openers further gouging his wounds. Soon the trip was over, and Havoc landed on unfarmiliar ground, pulling the dust, gravel, and god knows what else out of his wounds. He paid little attention to his young savior until he felt a light tugging at his arm, and he turned to realize that he was still holding the end of the cane.

"We're here." The young man said smiling. "And where is here?" Havoc asked. The young man said nothing, but rather gestured with the cane. Havoc followed the gesture, and for a short time, forgot his painful wounds, focusing instead on the sprawling landscape that spread out before him. Calm, green hills seemed to go on endlessly. Birds of all colors flew carelessly, and to make it even more awe inspiring, the sun had just begun to rise, making each hill glow with individual beauty. It was paradise. "We call it the Eve Lands. This is where the last Eve is said to have passed on. It is the site of the final ritual performed by that Eve, Which allows each of us to carry with us an Eve." Havoc, still concerning himself with the golden hills, was able only to utter a short "M-hm" before once again devoting his attention to the view.

The young man noticed this, and rolled his eyes impatiently. "Listen closely boy this is important!" Havoc snapped out of his trance, and immediately remembered his wounds, and grasped his face in pain. "Hold still boy." The young man commanded, rolling his eyes once again. With this he put his hand on the top of Havocs head, then shouted "Remune Awaken!" Havoc flinched slightly, and then relaxed as a calming whooshing sound filled his ears. Burried within the whooshing, he heard a whisper, a voice. It told him it's name. Farron, a name which, for some reason, touched his soul. Immediately the whooshing stopped, but the feeling in his soul did not. What was this? What had this stranger done, and for what purpose?


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