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65 pages

English

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The Saga of Jhons is a trilogy book about a Coordinator of the SRA (Special Risk Activities), named Jhons A. Price, that found himself in an extraordinary situation. In an attempt to unravel the mystery that plagues his city, Jhons loses fellow team members and the one person he loved the most.
Trying to find the individual who ripped him off all he had, he ends up surprisingly teleported to another galaxy and entered into a life and death Tournament. To his surprise, the man whom he's looking for is part of the Empire that had created the competition, and now, in addition to fighting to fulfill his duty, he must also fight for survival.
In this meaningful trilogy, Jhons will have to deal with various adversities and prove that the persistence and faith of a man are maybe one of his greatest powers.

Sujets

Univers ado

Suspense

Imaginaire

Fantasy

Fiction

Thriller

Saga

Revenge

Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)

Young Adult Fiction

Suspenso

Informations

Publié par	AuthorHouse
Date de parution	12 mars 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9798823003070
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

A BOOK BY THE VERSIANI BROT HERS
THE SAGA OF JHONS

LEAVING ALL FEARS BEHIND

AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: 833-262-8899

© 2023 The Versiani Brothers. 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 03/08/2023

ISBN: 979-8-8230-0306-3 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-0307-0 (e)

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

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.

To Cristina Martins for her patience, effort, and support and for helping us to go through this journey that was to write The Saga of Jhons. We are very grateful for this.
To Bob Fowke (YouCaxton Publications) for assisting us on the editing process. This book would not be the same if it wasn’t for you.
Last, but not least, to AuthorHouse for making this dream come true.

In life, we all have a dream of hope, an irreversible regret, a promise to keep, and an unforgettable love.
—Jhons Alexander Price
CONTENTS
Prologue
Sketch
The Beginning of the Horror
Soldier Rodes’s Disappearance
Angela’s Death
Enough Surprises
Laying Down the Rules
One Step of Strategy and One of Bravery
Show Me What You Can Do
Between Victories and Defeats
The Darkest Day
Hoping for a Miracle
A Dream of Vengeance
Laying the Cards on the Table
The Last Day
Betrayal
A Smile amid Chaos
PROLOGUE
July 2007
I had no idea what was happening. The situation was out of control. My world had been shattered. That hooded man had torn me up inside. He’d ripped every piece of my heart apart and stomped on it real hard. He killed my wife, attacked my teammates, and turned my town upside down, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. That moron was getting on my nerves. I don’t know how it had happened so suddenly, without any warning, with no signs, nothing to tip us off, but I went all the way down to hell to find the scoundrel who was behind that mystery. Despite many frustrations, for some reason I never gave up. Maybe it was the support of friends I made during my hunt, perhaps it was my all-consuming desire for revenge, or maybe I was just a man seeking to reconnect with his faith. It doesn’t matter now. I did what had to be done, and despite often dancing with death, I somehow survived.

SKETCH
“Angela, dear, breakfast is served. Be careful not to be late! Oh, and remember that Mrs. Revers will come by at 6 p.m. sharp to go over the notes of the last song,” I said as I poured myself another glass of the juice I had just grabbed from the fridge.
“Thanks, Jhons! You’re so sweet. Remember I love you.”
“I would never forget that.”
“Lara hates when you call her ‘Mrs. Revers,” she mentioned, walking into the kitchen.
“It’s her name. Whatever,” I said, in a mocking tone.
“If you say so,” Angela agreed, throwing me the sweetest smile.
That is my life, or what used to be my life up until it all happened. It’s a long story, but if you have the time and the patience …
Well, shall we start with a coffee? I suggest you drink some. It’s nice and hot. And I will too, as it will help make my memory less bitter now that I’ll tell you everything.
I’m a nice guy who used to have the best wife in the world, and I have a dream job. Yes, I have the best job you can have in a town. I clean the streets. But stop right there. Don’t you picture me wearing overalls, carrying a mop around, and wasting water on the pavement or in the garden while reciting some romantic poetry by Emily Dickinson throughout the day. No, that is definitely not me. That person is Mrs. Fides, from door number 426.
Me, I’m a Lestah City police officer. Lestah is a small place located three hundred kilometers from the capital, and my job is to keep the peace on the streets and protect the law-abiding citizens of my town, providing an honest service as efficiently as I can. As the major of the corporation and coordinator of the SRA (Special Risk Activities), I’ve always been ready to respond to every emergency at any time. And you know what? I love my job!
There’s nothing better than drinking my coffee and eating my toast as I look at the street through the window on a sunny morning, thinking that everything is in order and that we keep things that way by the sweat of our brows. But of course, when everything is good and perfect, there’ll always be someone to make your life hell; such people just can’t stand peace, and they suddenly turn up to terrorize the place. There’s no solution for the problems they cause; all you’ve got to do is wear the uniform, say a prayer, and shoot them. It’s me or them, and when it comes to choosing, it’s rather them than me.
Miss Davis had been with me since I was promoted to lieutenant eleven years ago. We were almost inseparable. We arrested many thugs and were the ones who made possible the execution of many others. “She” never let me down, always fully loaded and ready for the next shot. Arguably, “she” was my favorite magnum; only my partner, Rodes, was dearer to me within the team than “her.” He was a funny and cheerful guy who was the joy of the corporation—unlike me.
I feel like you and I are becoming very close now, but I’m yet to tell you about Angela, my wife. She was beautiful : medium height, skin white as snow and soft as wool, deep and seductive green eyes, a catching and inviting smile, slightly wavy black hair, and a body that was the envy of any woman. Besides, she made the tastiest doughnuts I’ve ever eaten in my life. She loved playing music on the keyboard I gave her for her last birthday. She had a tremendous ability to learn notes and chords, whereas I knew nothing about them. I’m just a good listener; playing was never my cup of tea. Anyway, she was an excellent wife and woman. Talking about Angela sure brings me joy and makes me miss her. I loved her so dearly, but sometimes I couldn’t tell her how much.
You’re probably asking yourself what a woman with all those virtues saw in a guy like me. Well, I would say nothing. She didn’t see anything. It was all a twist of fate. You see, we always think we’re in control, when we are actually being controlled; we think we choose, when in reality we’re being chosen. What will be will be, and there’s no point in moaning; we need to do our best now so we don’t get stuck in the past and won’t feel sorry in the future.
My mother used to tell me this wise quote, and I have to admit that it took me a while to understand the importance of it. Sometimes the past of a man can weigh so much on him that it keeps him from seeing clearly in the present. That happened to me when I went through a bad spell in my life, but as I said, when I learned to listen to my mother and learn from her, I overcame those problems. I made it through them.
Part of what I accomplished, of what I became, I really owe it my mother, because I never had much contact with my father, a renowned scientist. He was always working on his research—far too much. My father always wore that white coat, even when he was at home, off work, enjoying his leisure time. My mother, on the other hand, was very quiet; she would take care of the house all day. I remember we used to spend the afternoons doing puzzles and drinking lemonade.
The last time I visited them was last summer. The flowers I took with me were my mom’s favorites—rare blue roses. Created in a lab, they represent a true and eternal love. That is the kind of love I believe my parents felt for one another.
The grave where they were laid to rest was adorned by my lively flowers once a year, and whenever I went there, I would get very emotional while rereading the letter my mother had written to me a few days before she passed.
Dear Jhons,
Thirty years ago I fell in love with this wonderful man, Anthony Rogers Price, your father, who had a unique way of loving me. Unfortunately, you never had the opportunity to know him as he really was. Your father wasn’t always that man detached from the family as you found him to be. He had no choice but to fully devote himself to his scientific work in the last twenty years of his life. He wouldn’t accept the fact that I was diagnosed with a rare disease called powerlessness syndrome. Basically, my immune system is unable to fulfill its role effectively, and a simple flu can become a very complicated disease that is difficult to treat and cure. Few patients with powerlessness syndrome make it to adulthood, but fortunately I managed to. Your father promised me he would never rest until he found a cure for my illness, and he died trying to keep his promise. He managed to create an antibiotic that soothes the effect of the disease, but he didn’t live long enough to find a definitive cure. I didn’t want to leave this life before giving you a true picture of what your father was to me—and I believe that one day you will be that kind of man to a lucky woman, my son, and I know that you will love her like your father loved me.
Love, your dearest mother,
Helena Alexander M. Price
I’ve never really come to terms with my father’s death. His body