Legacy

By Jordan Costner

Luke Hart a seemingly normal, everyday guy heads off to college with McKenna Parker, his best friend and one true love. While at school Luke stumbles on to a discreet world unlike anything he has experienced before. The world of Legacy, an institution that has been thriving since the decline of the Roman empire. Legacy has maintained the gladiator style of the fighting since the reign of Emperor Numerian. Becoming immersed in Legacy, Luke discovers he is a Bloodborn. A warrior, whose bloodline traces back to one of histories most storied legends. While finding a home in Legacy, Luke begins his transformation from seemingly normal guy into a God. The closer Luke gets to his fulfilling his destiny, the more he puts his and McKennas lives in danger. Ancient Rivalry, and blood lust spell death at every opportunity for Luke. Only time will tell if he will be able to survive Legacy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477259696

Jordan Costner

As a child my greatest dream was always to be a superhero. To be one of the epic characters from the Marvel and D.C. Comics I adored so much. The story telling, imagination, and ability to create heroes so identifying definitely made Mr. Stan Lee one of my long time idols. My love for these characters helped shape my love for illustration. I felt a sense of closeness with the characters by being able to duplicate classic images. However, just being able to draw these characters wasn't enough. I was still waiting for the moment when my powers would develop because I knew for a fact that like the X-men I too had the mutant "X-gene". Unfortunately, I never gained the ability to generate ice, or manipulate fire, but to this day I still long to be a superhero. While in college I came up with the idea for a story, about a guy who becomes a God. I always thought to myself, how cool would it be to see that process unfold. So for three years I developed the idea until one night I went to sleep and the story came to me in a dream. Being a visual person it made it easier for me to write the story because I could see it in the form of a movie, right down to which actors would bring the characters to life. Before, I knew it I had completed my manuscript and Legacy was born. Legacy is the first in the trilogy of Legacy novels. It is to be followed by Legacy: Rise of the Echo. In 2011 I graduated from college with a degree in Graphic Art and Marketing. I currently reside in New Jersey.

Book preview

© 2012 by Jordan Costner. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/09/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5968-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5967-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5969-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012914572

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Because your own strength is unequal to the task, do not assume that it is beyond the powers of man; but if anything is within the powers and province of man, believe that it is within your own compass also.

—Marcus Aurelius, 16th Emperor of Roman People

Contents

Chapter 1 Luke

Chapter 2 This Might Not Be So Bad After All!

Chapter 3 Let’s Gear Up!

Chapter 4 Something Is Wrong!

Chapter 5 McKenna

Chapter 6 The Champion Of Legacy

Chapter 7 A Little Time Off

Chapter 8 New Revelations

Chapter 9 The Third Proelium

Chapter 10 Tragedy Strikes Aurelius

Chapter 11 Owen

Chapter 12 The Final Proelium

Chapter 13 The Last Message

About the Author

Chapter 1

SKU-000563264_TEXT.pdf

Luke

I am Luke Hart. For as long as I can remember, I have struggled with trying to find my identity. What I do know is that I was born in America, to James and Elizabeth Hart. Beyond my birthplace and parents names, I know nothing extraordinary about my life. The realest things I know outside my foundation are my dreams. I can’t remember the last time I had a normal night’s sleep.

Two dreams in particular have been reoccurring for months now, so vivid I can tell you every single detail, right down to the taste of the air. The first is of a woman. I am drawn to her and the passion that exudes from her lips when we kiss. She smells of the sweetest flowers, her skin like satin, and her lips taste like pure candy and a miracle. If there were ever words to paint her likeness, I would silence my tongue in fear that what I would say would ruin a masterpiece and simply describe her as is, a dream.

I don’t know who she is—maybe a figment of my imagination, a wish I so long to come true. Or is she a foreshadowing of love to come? While such bliss is a blessing, knowing that our time is limited to my slumber breaks my heart. Yet, ironically, during these bittersweet encounters, I never sleep better.

The second dream is much different. I’m standing on sand before thousands of screaming people cheering for me as if in worship of a god. I can’t make out the name I am called or even my location, but the roar the crowd ignites as soon as I salute them is palpable.

Before long it dies away to nothing but a whisper. A fog rolls in, and the sky begins to rain warm rose petals that kiss my skin on their way to the ground. I catch a few. The petals don’t stay intact—they begin to melt, and soon I’m almost fully submerged in a warm pool of blood. As it rolls over my face, I can no longer hold my breath. Overwhelmed, I accept the inevitable: As I am drowning, I wake up.

When I die in my dreams and awaken to the world, it’s like being born again. But being born repeatedly makes you lose sight of who you really are. Maybe I never really knew.

SKU-000563264_TEXT.pdf

My father, Sergeant as I often called him, was in the army, which makes me an army brat. He wasn’t so hard on me in enforcing protocol and discipline, because I didn’t need it. He worked hard and was busy a lot, so I never got to see him much. When he was home, we had a pretty decent relationship, but my parents were young when they had me and are still very much in love. To be honest, I never felt I was a priority for them. He spent his down time mainly with her.

To say my mother is diligent would be an understatement. She is a successful graphic designer who managed to expand her business as we migrated. She tried to do the stay-at-home Stepford Wife thing but quickly got bored with it. My father was always on base or missions, and I was at school most of the day. She needed to fill her time, and of course daytime TV and cleaning didn’t cut it, primarily since she had nothing to clean because the house was still spotless from the day before, and morning soap operas are hard to get into when you can’t speak the language of the show you’re watching.

It was tough for me growing up being an only child. I was generally alone. I had no one to talk to other then my mom and dad, although they never could quite understand what I was going through. I’ve lived in six countries and gone to fifteen different schools.

I was a bit of an introvert, the only one around my age who spoke English, and from early on noticed that I was different. I was never an All-American Guy. When I reached my teens, I looked more like, and had the attitude of, a bad boy: dark brown hair, lean muscular build, a few tattoos—I had a lot of misguided aggression.

I was really into sports. I loved my competitive nature, but my knack for, and inclination toward, fighting separated me from others. I had above-average gifts—exceptional strength, acute reflexes, balance, natural instinct, and a high IQ. Why? I don’t know.

There is a possibility it could be genetics, but while my parents have their strengths, their strengths pale in comparison to mine. I used to think maybe I was an alien or a mutant, you know, like the characters you read about in comic books. Maybe I had been sent by my actual biological parents to be saved while our home planet was being destroyed. Whatever the deal was, I embraced my gifts and mastered them.

I learned some moves from my dad. He showed me some hand—to-hand combat techniques the army used to train soldiers. When I was eleven years old, I began formal training in mixed martial arts. For six years I trained hard and honed my ability, but there was something still missing. I can’t recall how, but I found myself competing in organized fighting events—the unsanctioned kind.

These offered quick money, large purses, and a rush every time. I was good at it. It brought me out of my shell and made me comfortable being around people. I had the opportunity to see these foreign places from an entirely different perspective.

The bouts were run by the shadiest of people, drug dealers, criminals, people looking to make a quick buck and a lot of it. They accommodated businessmen, lawyers, and high-ranking officials, as well as criminals like themselves, people with money who had more than enough to throw around and were major fight fans with even bigger gambling addictions.

Alas, when you’re dealing with sketchy characters in even sketchier environments, you’re bound to run into a few dilemmas. I ran into a big one.

It started when I defeated the number-one-earning fighter in Rome. A drug lord named Edmond Cross, who controlled Interpol’s top-ten most wanted list, owned this guy. When I won, he lost and lost big. I left the guy mangled and dazed. Cross was out something like two hundred thousand American, if I figured the exchange rates right. At the time, I had an underground fighting record of 29-0.

I wasn’t a criminal by any means, just a kid who felt alone and liked to fight. I happened to mingle with the wrong crowd. It comes with the territory when you did what I was doing.

In an effort to keep me alive, the sergeant applied for reassignment Stateside, and got it. My parents were surprisingly thrilled, seeing how, until then, they’d never taken much interest in my extra-curricular activities. We had never packed so fast to move anywhere. Before I knew it, we were on our way back to the U.S. Landing at Newark, I couldn’t help wondering how I would maintain my sanity in the Garden State. How does one go from living in Europe to living in New Jersey?

The most noticeable difference is in fact the culture. Europeans exude a sense of place unparalleled by anything American. Every country that I had lived in owned who they were—traditions, history, social values. In America you will find people who are proud to be American, but because there are so many different Americans, it’s impossible to have a single identity. The one thing that makes the country great is the same reason it’s divided.

New Jersey wasn’t so bad, I guess. We moved to a quiet middle-class town that was very diverse. Old Town is like something out of a black-and-white television show. The houses all sit on lots with well-manicured lawns, white picket fences border the properties, and every neighbor knows the others’ names. At first my parents enrolled me in private school, thinking that it would keep me out of trouble. All it did was waste a trimester’s worth of money; I enrolled in the local public school mid-year. Apparently, fighting was automatic grounds for expulsion; go figure. I didn’t fit in there from day one. Wearing blazers and khakis?

Having just turned eighteen in my mid-junior year, I once again found myself a new student. That made the count of new schools eighteen. I transferred to the public high school in the town my parents and I were living in and found it a little more my speed. There was a wide range of people there. They were interested only in partying and dreading life after high school. You could sense the teenage angst in the air! I knew I was home.

My first day of school was the day I met McKenna. They say you can, at any point, pick your head up, take a quick look, and recognize true love, love at first sight, archaic and fanciful. Today, people are lead to believe that personal encounters are no longer the way to find love. You need to first have background checks, preferably with three references and a bachelor’s degree. If you’re still in high school, you shouldn’t believe in love at all, because it’s too tedious. Just hook up and, when the time’s right, settle for someone who is a great business spouse. Who needs love? You end up getting your heart broken.

People don’t realize you can’t avoid life. Experiencing real heartbreak makes you stronger, and it makes finding true love so much sweeter.

You know what love at first sight is because, when you see that person for the first time, the world stops and you wonder why it seemed so meager until then. McKenna did just that for me. She was definitely my type—five-nine, perfect skin, petite athletic build, grayish blue eyes, long brown hair, and she froze time as she strolled by.

You may not believe this, but it wasn’t the first time we’d met. Five years before I met the daughter of one of the sergeants’ colleagues and best friends; like me, her father was in the armed forces. Her name was McKenna Parker. I remember this because, even at thirteen, I immediately knew she was my soul mate.

I wouldn’t see her again, though, until I was seventeen. I was walking through Rome one night on my way to a fight and caught a glimpse of her hailing a taxi outside a little cafe. I called out to her over the bustling sound of the city. I yelled till I was hoarse but failed to get her attention. I never got another chance to look for her. It happened the same night my underground fighting caught up with me.

I couldn’t stop myself from staring when she entered my first-period class. I was ecstatic to know we shared a class together. I’d been pining over this girl, who was still a mystery to me, for too long.

Hi, is this seat taken? I asked.

No, not at all! McKenna responded. Hey, you’re new here, right?

I smiled. Yeah. I’m Luke Hart. I just transferred from Prep. Actually it was more like I got kicked out.

Really? I guess I’m going to have to watch out for you! she exclaimed, and smirked. I’m McKenna, by the way. McKenna Parker. I just moved here too, a few months ago, from Florida. My dad got stationed to Fort Dix.

We had too much in common for this to be pure coincidence. What are the odds that we would happen to meet again in, of all places, New Jersey? Fate had brought us together once more.

SKU-000563264_TEXT.pdf

After that first encounter, McKenna and I immediately hit it off. When school ended that day I walked her home, it didn’t take us long to realize that we shared a lot of similar interests—music, movies, food, even our horoscopes read, This is one of the most heavenly matches for you because you share a near-psychic ability to communicate. At times, all you need to do is look at one another to let each other know what’s up.

McKenna’s house was large and white, with dark gray tiling and a covered porch in front. I escorted her up the walkway to the front door. She searched through her bag until she found her house keys. So tell me, she asked, how does one get kicked out of private school within three weeks of being there?

For fighting, if you could even call it that. The situation ended with me cleaning out my locker and two star football players rushed to the hospital with a few broken bones and minor scrapes. Nothing big!

So you’re a fighter? She asked with an intrigued look on her face. I never would’ve guessed that… maybe you could show me a thing or two? A smile crossed her face.

I knew she was the girl from all those years ago, but did she remember me? Had I left as much of an impression on her? You don’t remember me, do you? It’s been five years now, but our fathers introduced us once before at a black tie event in Paris.

She pursed her lips so a dimple formed on her cheek. Yes, I remember you. To be honest, I’ve always hoped I’d get a chance to see you again. She turned to enter the house.

Wait! I exclaimed, reaching quickly for my cell phone. ". . . Hey, you think I could