by J. C. Fiske
Lamik felt a hot, white rage rising in him. He was standing over him now, and saw not just flowers in his son’s hair, but also blush on his cheeks, and red lipstick upon his mouth. Ranto was sitting in a small circle with three other girls sipping imaginary earl grey from a toy tea set.
“Here, Daddy, I picked this for you,” Ranto said, pulling up a daisy out of his hair, and holding it up for him, his wrist limp. Lamik couldn’t speak. His rising fury kept his teeth in a grind.
All he could do was stare at the limp wrist, and act . . .
With a quick snap, he grabbed his son’s outstretched forearm, hoisted him clear off the ground, and literally dragged the boy out of the play area.
“Daddy, Daddy stop! Ow! Dad, you’re hurting me! You’re hurting me, Daddy! Ow! OW!” Ranto pleaded, but Lamik pulled him along and when he was sure he was alone, he took that limp wrist, twisted it, and pulled until it snapped like a dried bundle of twigs. Ranto screamed a scream of pain and terror as tears flooded down his eyes, ruining his make-up, but Lamik only squeezed the broken bones together tighter.
“Never again. If I ever, EVER, catch you playing with little girls, or raising a limp wrist toward me again, I’ll break the other one. Am I clear?” Lamik asked, his eyes wide, the corners bloodshot.
Ranto only whimpered, tears running down his face.
“Stop crying,” Lamik said.
Ranto didn’t.
“I SAID STOP CRYING!” Lamik roared as he smacked his son with a backhand across the cheek. Ranto screamed louder and Lamik hit him again, and again, harder each time until not a peep escaped Ranto’s lips.
“That’s better. Now, go clean that ridiculousness off your face, and head back to your teacher. Tell her you fell, and she’ll patch you up,” Lamik said, and without another word, he got up and walked away, not once looking back.
Ranto watched him go and stared down at his throbbing, mangled wrist. He tried to cry, but found he couldn’t. It was as if some deep part of him had callused over with every strike from his father, and his tear ducts had become as barren as the Flarian desert.
Ranto Narroway never wept again.
“My time with Drakearon, as you can see, it has, freed some things. I remember, I remember everything. The Strife Renegade peace treaty? It wasn’t a treaty at all. It was an exchange. Go on . . . Father . . . tell them, tell everyone here how you traded away your only son for a new one. Tell them how the all-powerful Chieftain Lamik Strife could not have a little FAGGOT for a son!” Ranto shouted.
All eyes were on Lamik now, and the Chieftain took a long moment before answering. When he did, he couldn’t look up. He spoke to the ground.
“I tried, I tried so hard to comprehend why such a good servant of IAM as I, was cursed with an evil like you. Before you, I never questioned my strength, ever, and then, I couldn’t stop thinking if there was something wrong with me, or something wrong with my wife? And then it occurred to me. All of it was a test. That’s all you were to me a test from IAM. A test, which I found a loophole, a test I passed, and with it, I not only brought myself peace, but peace to a war that would have undoubtedly, killed us all in the end. I have no regrets on how I handled you. I wanted a new son, a strong son, a new heir, and in exchange for my cease attack, Narroway obliged, offering up his own, for peace. Look at you, look at you now! How dare you inject yourself with the same evil we fight against! You’re Maraspawn . . .” Lamik said, spitting on Ranto’s boots.
“Your blind faith is making you unable to see the truth in front of your eyes. Elekai’ is limited, even when paired with peak human condition. I reached it, only to be defeated by . . . by that bottom feeding dog . . . his Drakeness, that’s how he defeated me . . . when we fought then, we didn’t fight as equals. Now, we are. Gisbo Falcon, I know what he is. Within him, is the power to match Drakearon. Do you understand now?” Ranto asked.
Lamik said nothing.
“Well, with feeling, comes understanding.” Ranto said, as he backhanded his father, the same way he had done to him, years ago.
“Chaos. Did you feel it? I am its offspring, I see the world through its eyes, and what I see, is a world that lacks order, a world where uncertainty can lash out at any time. If I am a child of chaos, you, are its servant. You made me who I am. The only way to stop chaos is to crush it, overwhelmingly, unmercifully, with unrelenting order, and I, I will bring that order to this world, even if I need to play the villain for a while. The end, the vision I have for this world, will justify the means,” Ranto said.
“A favorite phrase of the sociopath, you, ACK!” Lamik started, but Ranto halted his sentence by dropping his foot atop the back of his neck.
“With the Dragon’s blood inside me, I now have the same ability that brought Drakearon his power, but I will not kill Flarians. No, I’m going for the ultimate prize. I am going to kill a specific Flarian, Gisbo Falcon. I will take from him his Phoenix powers, and with them, I will then hunt down your adoptive son. Oh, yes. I know all about him too, I know he’s the Man-Dragon, and when I kill him, both the Phoenix and Dragon powers will howl within me, and Drakearon will be but ash in the breeze, along with the Drakeness, and finally, I will bring the age of order, the sort of order this world not only needs, but deserves!” Ranto said.
There was silence among them.
“But not without help. To do this, I will need an army . . . your army, Father. Your offer as Strife Chieftain still stands, does it not? Any may challenge you for your title? I will not take your leadership through deceptive means. I will crush you, in front of everyone. Now, stand up, and face me,” Ranto said.
Lamik finally found the courage to look up into the eyes of his son, eyes that were twisted, and so far gone, he no longer saw himself in them.
“You would, you would sacrifice your very self to this, Drakeness, in order to slay the Man-Phoenix, and the Man-Dragon to bring order to this universe?” Lamik asked.
“I would.” Ranto said.
“Just, on a whim? There must be a reason, there must be,” Lamik started, but Ranto interrupted him, as if he had been waiting for such a question.
“I will not allow others to be touched by the same chaos as I have. I will embody absolute order, and hunt down the agents of chaos at every turn, and fulfill my true father’s dream . . . a world free from evil.” Ranto said.
“Then you, can do what I never could . . . what Drakearon has done, is taken a vast measure. It will take an equally vast measure, to stop him, once and for all. It will take a monster, to destroy a monster. Son, I support you, this, my brothers, this, this is what I’ve been talking about, new ideas, radical ideas for a radical world. Son, I will not fight you. Rather, I will give unto you, the leadership you demand. Here I, Lamik Strife, in front of many witnesses, bestow, Ranto Strife, my only son, the title of Strife Chieftain.” Lamik said. “Kneel before me son,”
“Kneel? KNEEL!? Ranto scoffed. He then grabbed his father by the hair and he dragged him across the room.
“What, AGH! What, what are you doing?” Lamik screamed.
“In your last moments, you dropped your convictions just to save your life. There’s no room for someone like you in my world. You said it yourself father, it takes a monster, to kill a monster, and by my real father, I met Chieftain Narroway, the greatest man I’ve ever known.” Ranto said, and with two massive hands, he lifted his father up into the air, and with a huge eruption of fire, he blew apart his father’s body, splashing his hot blood, meat, and sinew atop the unfortunate onlookers.
“No . . . NO! HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU!” Bosto screamed as he lifted up the table, flung it directly at Ranto, and charged at him like an enraged bull. Ranto caught the flipped table by one leg, spun about once, and careened the edge of the table straight into the oncoming, Bosto, felling him, and opening up his forehead.
As Bosto fought for consciousness, Ranto moved toward him, picking up Manon under one arm on the way as if he were a toddler.
“I don’t think y
ou understand. This army I need, we are no longer Strife’s. We strip away from ourselves all morals, all belief, all honor, in order to achieve one’s end. We endure. We are now a country without borders, an army representing a mission, not an ideal, and anyone who gets in the way . . . dies.
You ancient husks have no place in my new world, so, I give you the mercy, to die in this one. Farewell.” Ranto said, as he lifted Manon by both of his legs, threw his body back over his shoulders, and swung him down like a warhammer, smashing the old Strife’s head straight down onto Bosto’s head, then, reared back, and did it again. Over and over this went until the screams stopped, and both the outsides and insides of the old Strife’s noggins lay shattered across the floor like smashed watermelon.
Upon finishing, Ranto tossed Manon’s body aside as if he were discarding a broken lawn tool, then, turned to face the four remaining Strife. Without thinking, all four Strife dropped to one knee in reverence.
“Inform the others that their leader and council are dead. From this day, we are no longer Strife. We are, The Order, and I want every voice within the camp screaming these next words far into the night, to show their loyalty. If I don’t hear their loyalty, consider them an enemy, and deal with them as such,” Ranto said.
“Wha . . . what do you want said, Chief?” Quil asked.
“All hail, Ranto,” Ranto said.
Without wasting a second, the four young Strife ran out into the village, screaming the news and ordering the phrase, and within minutes, the forest was alive with one chant, one melody, one phrase . . .
“All HAIL, RANTO! ALL HAIL, RANTO!”
Chapter Five: The Goat Man Cometh
“I still, for the life of me, Rolce, cannot understand why you all didn’t come here straight away! After news of Heaven’s Shelter’s demise, we, we feared the worst, we thought you were all gone!” Douglas McCarley said. “Have you all settled in?”
“Yes, there’s more than enough room, for everyone. It’s amazing what you have done with the place since the battle,” Rolce said.
“The battle that you helped us win. As far as we’re concerned, Rolce, this is as much your home, as it is ours. Here, right this way.” Douglas said, escorting Rolce into his office. Once inside, he closed the door and sat down at his desk, while Rolce slipped into a chair across from him.
“Now, I hate to bring it up, but I need to know what happened. Our scouts searched the area sometime ago. They didn’t bring back good news. Please, Rolce, give me, us, some closure. Please, tell me what happened with my brother and my nephew,” Douglas said.
“Could I, possibly get a drink?” Rolce asked.
“A drink? You?” Douglas asked.
“I’ve never been one for liquor. The taste and feeling never sat well with me, but, I feel I’ll need a little help getting this out of me,” Rolce said.
“Well, if you’re looking for booze, you’ve certainly come to the right place. Me? I don’t touch the stuff, not anymore. Being leader and all, I need to always be in the right state of mind. The addiction, the thirst for the drink, runs in the family. I will not become my father,” Douglas said. “Eh! Morry! Get Rolce something strong!”
“Wha?” Morry called from the hallway.
“I SAID GET ROLCE SOMETHING STRONG!” Douglas ordered. Suddenly the door to Douglas’s office opened a creak and Morry’s head popped in.
“Damn it all, Dougie, what in the blazes are yeh shoutin’ on ‘bout?” Morry asked.
“I said, get Rolce here a stiff drink,” Douglas said.
“Well, why didn’t ya say so!” Morry said, as he plopped down beside Rolce, and out of a pouch, pulled out three small highball glasses and planted them on Douglas’s desk, suddenly looking up at Douglas, and pulling one away.
“Right-o, none for you, Dougie, you be good now!” Morry said with a waving finger as he poured Rolce, then himself a drink. With a quick cock of his neck, Morry downed the whole thing in one gulp and began pouring himself another. Rolce took a look at his drink, then at Morry.
“You always carry glasses and liquor with you?” Rolce asked.
“Sure do,” Morry said, as if this was as normal as wearing pants. “Go on, Rolcie boy, it’ll grow ya a third testicle!”
“Just what I need . . .” Rolce said, as he mimicked Morry’s method, held in the drink for less than a second only to cough it up, hunch down, and spray it everywhere.
“Whew, there now, take ‘er easy. Not a drinker, eh? Dat’s right, you Drippies are all into your herbs an’ such, lemme see if I can’t get you some tea or sometin’,” Morry said, rising to his feet.
“Never mind, forget the whole thing. I just better come right out with it.” Rolce said. Morry sat back down as Rolce took in a deep breath and began.
“So much happened at once that day, so fast, but I’ll do my best to share with you all, what happened.” Rolce said, and with that, he got to it, and recounted the events to the best of his memory. When he finished, neither Morry, nor Douglas could look him in the face.
“Drakearon . . . so, he really is back. IAM help us.” Douglas said.
“What Drakearon said, it was a mouthful, but there is one, just one inconsistency in Drakearon’s story that leads me to think he is not to be believed…” Rolce said.
“Which is?” Morry asked.
“If Drakearon knew that Gisbo was the Man-Phoenix all along, why did he take all those Renegade and Strife recruits back then, looking for the Man-Phoenix? Why did he bother to use my father as he did? Something, something doesn’t add up, but why would he lie about all that and say he planned it all from the start?”
“To crush hope, and replace it with despair. That’s what he does! He is a master of manipulation, and he knows just how to shake your foundations. There are many who find purpose and a belief in the idea of a higher power. Some call him IAM, some something else, and some don’t believe in anything but their own power, their own will, but in that speech of his he broke hope for those who believe, and those who don’t. He attacked both sides of the proverbial fence, but especially, those upon the fence . . .
Seeing is believing, and those who saw his absolute power on display? Me, Morry, we’ve both seen it. It’s terrifying to behold. He makes you believe that yes, he honestly could take over everything you are, and everything you could be. Purpose. That is what the unbelievers, believers, and unsure all have in common. They’re all searching for their place in this universe, and Drakearon? He would rather take that all away, and own what’s left . . .” Douglas said, swallowing hard. “ . . . and the scariest thing about it? He has the power to do it!”
“Yes, and some he won’t have to force. More people flock to his city every day to accept the Drakeness, and increase his power. His plan, it’s maniacally brilliant. Take away the sun, instill darkness and fear, then, create a heaven on earth, and kick back, relax, as power comes to him all on its own.” Rolce said.
“What of Falcon?” Morry asked.
Rolce tried several attempts to speak, but could not find the words, and simply, hung his head.
“So, my brother . . . the reports are true. He’s gone,” Douglas said.
“We don’t know that, but, I feel, we would have found him by now, or he us . . .” Rolce managed to say.
They were all silent for a long time, and then, Morry raised his head, his eyes widened with sudden realization.
“Then it’s true. He used it,” Morry said.
“Used it? Used what?” Rolce asked. Douglas looked at Morry for a moment, and then, it came to him as well. He planted a hand over his face and breathed in slowly, fighting back tears.
“That explosion that destroyed Heaven’s Shelter, the explosion that still to this day, has left the ground warm . . . I don’t know why I didn’t piece it together before. That wasn’t the work of Drakearon. That was the work of my brother. He, he used it. He actually used it!” Douglas said.
“Used what?” Rolce asked.
“Damasuku, t
he Flarian term for, sacrifice. In other words, he used his compression technique, over and over again, layering an explosion inside his own body that would expel all of his life, soul essence, and Flarian energy. The magnitude of it, normally wouldn’t be that powerful, but, he probably added in his Drakeness into the mix . . . the power expelled, it must have been beyond imagination! But, Damasuku, it’s not something just anyone can do. The amount of will needed to keep the power in you, to hold your body together . . . there was only one other time in our history when it was used, and that man, used it in a duel against the Flarian Warlord, challenging him for his throne, and ended up killing them both in the process which started a civil war in Flaria. It was from the victors of that war, that new line of Warlord, that Vadid was born . . .” Douglas said.
“But, why would he . . .” Rolce started, when the realization hit him. Morry nodded.
“The reason why we still sit here freely was because ‘o him, Rolce. He no doubt, along with himself an’ Heaven’s Shelter, took out that black army of Drakearon’s . . . he mayhap wasn’t ready to take on the neutral armies of Thera, but, I guarantee he would have stormed down on us straight after to kill us Flarian’s again and add to his power!” Morry said.
“And Falcon, one man, stopped him. I always wondered why he didn’t follow through with Code Risinyu. Honj, he was upset with him, not giving his power to us, but, he gave us something more precious. He gave us time . . . time, we have squandered . . .” Rolce said, shame to his voice.
“And what of Gisbo?” Douglas asked. “What of my nephew?”
“Somewhere with Jack and Rake. They say they’re fixing him. How? I don’t know, but they can understand Gisbo on a level I can’t. We found him a few days ago. He finally hit a breaking point, and he dropped his defenses and Jackobi was finally able to locate him. From what I can tell, he’s been wandering from town to town, from bottle to bottle.” Rolce said.