Fantasia's Dream: Fantasia's Dream, #1

By Sakari Lacross

Troy is a mercenary that is paid by the governor of Brimstone City to do one thing, kill another group of mercenaries that is after the governor themselves. With Troy having a superhuman ability that nearly grants him immortality, this seems like another cake walk in the form of a mission for him. That is until he meets Delvin, another superhuman that has the same ability as Troy. And after one encounter, Troy can't seem to shake the unstoppable killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sakari Lacross
• Release date: Sep 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393950585

Sakari Lacross

Michael Wayne Noland Jr, better known for his pen name Sakari Lacross, was born February 5th, 1994 in Cleveland Ohio. Spending most of his childhood being raised in Flint Michigan, Michael's mother moved him and his family to Arizona when he was 15. Even with his unstable background, Michael has been writing since he was nine years old, competing in his school's poetry contest and bimonthly writing events. Discovering all his true potential to write during his years he went to linden charter academy, Michael won his first local poetry contest at Sam Garcia Western Avenue Library, located in Avondale Arizona. Michael then published his first poetry collection, titled, PTSD. With so many more projects on the way, Michael has no plans of stopping his love for writing any time soon and encourages his readers to stick around for the rides to come.

Book preview

Prologue

Not too much further before we have to get on foot, Ralph yelled over the sound of the doorless jeep that the five of them squeezed in.

Ralph was their commander. Well, at least for this specific platoon.

Troy didn’t belong to any particular squad, just placed wherever he might be needed. Ralph was an alright guy though. The two weeks that Troy had been in his squad, Ralph always seemed to place his allies above him; making everyone feel equal to him, and less like a superior. Ralph was like a strong ally, rather than a dick with a loud voice. However, there was one member that acted his position of squad leader out more than Ralph, an ideal asshole you would think of when you thought of the term, squad commander. That was Cramer. Compared to him, Ralph was short. Cramer had a major height advantage over the four of them, being six foot five easy, and that was without his boots on. Anyone who lingered around him for more than ten minutes would see how much he used his height to call shots over situational things. Like he was practicing being the leader for when Ralph was gone. Whatever Ralph didn’t enforce, Cramer didn’t mind taking it upon himself to get the point across.

The intel we got said that the group of mercenaries were in a small village not too far from us now. That means that we have to get off our lazy asses and march our way to the enemy to remain undetected; we don’t need the sound of the jeep giving away our position, Cramer said.

See? He was trying too hard to let it be known that if Ralph was ever unable to fulfill his duties, that if Ralph was to leave, if Ralph was even to die, he would be this strong leader that no one even asked for. 

Was there anymore intel gathered? Weasel asked.

Weasel was just that, a very scrawny small guy who was always trying to get one step ahead of the crowd. Believe it or not, he was a mercenary just like the rest of them. He lacked the physical attributes the rest of them had, so he used knowledge as power. However, Troy wasn’t sure if it was fear that pushed him to think this way or what. But he was always cautious, making sure to analyze every situation before making an effort to a task. He treated every situation like it could be his last and failure wasn’t an option. He had the highest mission success rate in the platoon.

There were reports that the mercenaries were small in numbers, just like us, Cramer answered.

They’re trying to keep a low profile then, keeping their numbers small so they can draw less attention. The same thing we’re doing, Weasel informed them. Let’s be careful with this group.

Weasel said that with every mission they had. Even so, everyone made sure to always heed his warnings.

So, these mercenaries were sent to kill our government, therefore, our government sent us to take them out, mercenaries versus mercenaries? Jeremy summarized.

Jeremy was a heavyset fella. Not too big to where he couldn’t maneuver, but larger than the rest of them in size. He was nearly as tall as Cramer and round as a balloon. But he was a heavy hitter. He carried the heavy artillery for when times got bad. He never really said much, just short sentences every once in a while. He was almost as quiet as Troy.

Sounds about right, Weasel confirmed. Gripping his chin, Weasel continued. The question is, why? There hasn’t been a hit placed on a governor in three decades, so why now? Why devise a hit when our forces have only grown? What could be that serious?

The jeep stopped, immediately forcing Troy’s palms to collect sweat. This normally happened for him before a mission. To a fool’s eye, he was as calm as a monk. Troy didn’t show a sign of doubt, weakness, or stress. When in reality, he held doubt. He knew everyone else had more experience than him. Years’ worth of training before they even touched a battlefield. Because of his...gift, he was automatically placed into the warzone without any preparation of any sorts. The battlefield was his teacher. Literally, whatever didn’t kill Troy, made him stronger. He wasn’t like the guys that were surrounding the jeep with assault rifles in hand, sentry guns, and sidearms. He didn’t carry a gun. He didn’t need it. All he carried was three swords strapped in cases on his back, with one blade positioned in the middle of his back being wider than the other two. These gifts gave him an unfair advantage in war. Gifts that allowed him to survive the battlefield. Allowing the brink of death to teach him every time. That is what made him a mercenary. These guys were better killers, but Troy was a better survivor. 

They don’t pay us to figure things out, Ralph got out the vehicle with his A.R in hand. We just point and click.

The jeep rested as they marched the red sands in the direction of a small village ahead. They were about a mile and a half away from their destination, making Jeremy break a few sweats from the excessive walking. Jeremy was carrying the biggest weapon of them all though, a chain gun with a belt full of bullets strapped around his upper body, so it was only natural. Even so, he didn’t complain once.  

The sun sparked today, with not a single gust of wind in sight.

There was silence between the three of them, with only the sound of sand shuffling and rocks being flushed by their boots. Troy found himself behind with Weasel, carrying a briefcase for Weasel. One of the rookies tasks the team would make him handle. In this case, was Weasel’s sniper rifle, again, keeping him cautious upon battle. Placing him at safe distances while he assessed the area for the rest of the team. To be honest, Weasel was an excellent sniper, and he had never once let anyone flank the team, so there wasn’t much to worry about. He also informed the team on every step the enemy took, so their task force always had the upper hand. Well, at least, this is what Troy read in the previous reports. Reports that were documented before he joined the team. Troy would constantly keep a mental note of his gifts, so he didn’t fear death too often. He was too familiar with death to misunderstand his situation. He learned in the few years of his duties that death was only feared by those that didn’t understand it. People feared the unknowing, that’s why no one wanted to die. Some days though...Troy welcomed it.

The five of them reached the village, with Troy obtaining orders to watch Weasel’s back while the two of them took their place on one of the one storied buildings at the edge of town, allowing them to scope out everything ahead of them. They did just that, climbing their way onto a flat roof top with a short wall for Weasel to position his sniper on.

Troy watched the team advance through the lifeless town like they were normal citizens through his binoculars, seeing no one else in sight but the platoon. The towns people seemed to be gone, with no signs of population in the village in quite some time. The region the small village was in was known to be used for war. This was perfect, seeing as they didn’t have clear pictures of the threat that was expecting them. Whoever came into the team’s line of sight were shootable. They were