by J. C. Fiske
“You . . . you killed him! He was just a frail old man! You just killed an old man!” Dano said.
“Don’t worry, I kill young fucks too,” Malik said as he leaned into a fierce frontal kick, breaking Dano’s nose, teeth, and chin all in one strike. Dano fell back down the stairs, and collapsed on top of his boss, his neck snapped. Malik then turned to Trig.
“And fat fucks,” Malik said. Trig turned to run, but Malik caught him behind by his shirt collar, pulled him back, and snapped his large neck cleanly. Trig’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he toppled over onto his side.
Malik then turned to Tick-Tock, standing nearly a foot taller and double his weight. The big man was shaking, unable to move.
“That must make you the dumb fuck, since you’re still standing here,” Malik said. The ex-Strife then held out an open palm, powered up his essence from his Flarian ring, and blasted Tick-Tock into ash, and then, the silence, the sweet silence, returned.
Malik looked around at his work, sighed, walked to his porch and plopped down on the second step, wanting more, but knew nothing would come. There wasn’t a fighter on the planet worth his salt that could give him satisfaction, and the one that could, was dead. He hung his head into his lap.
Was this his life now? Just one empty unfulfilling fight after another? He thought of Nina, his one chance at a normal life . . . gone, all because of him, of Gisbo Falcon, the one who ruined his life, and worst of all, had died in the destruction of Heaven’s Shelter, forever escaping his vengeance. Vengeance, it was what ate at his soul now, or what was left of it. Just because his target had died, didn’t mean it went away. It only grew worse, more hungry, with nothing to satisfy it. It was like a rabid wolverine was birthed into his guts, tearing at his insides, day and night, and it would never cease until he had his hands wrapped around Gisbo Falcon’s throat, had The Man-Phoenix’ life in his hands, to bend, to torture, and to ruin, just like he had done to him, but now, now that was impossible.
He knew he had to let this go, knew his mortal enemy was gone, and if that were the case . . . perhaps he would find another? He knew there was another fighter that could give him what he craved. Drakearon was back, and alive, but, when he thought of him, he felt emptiness. He felt no ill will, no rage, or reason, and if he did fight him, he knew he would just go with the motions, as he had been doing the past three years, and if he did manage to win, to kill him, it would only give his father what he wanted, and that was something he would never do.
Malik cursed aloud. What was the point of gaining power and experience with no one to test it against? What was vengeance worth when the prey was already dead? What was the dream of becoming the most powerful warrior on Thera worth when one just ended up all alone in the end? What was life worth, when you had no one to love, or share it with?
Malik gritted his teeth and slammed his fist against the railing. The answer to his questions, of course, was simple.
Nothing.
He was about to go back inside, and that’s when he felt the man’s awful, uncomfortable presence, like when a stranger, or someone you didn’t trust invaded your personal space.
Malik looked up at him, his churning, sudden anxiety ridden stomach turning into a fresh surge of anger at the unwelcome sight. With a scream of fury, he threw fire-bolt after fire-bolt at the man who had suddenly blinked into existence. When he had had his fullfill, Malik stared, breathing hard, feeling dizzy after the sudden over-releasing of his essence. He had used too much in the fights throughout the day.
The dust settled and the man stood there, unharmed.
“I figured that after all these years, all these attempts, you would cease such attempts on my life. It is . . . impossible to destroy me. I’ve told you time and again, you cannot destroy one who walks between.” The Goat man said, who now stood before the ex-Strife. Malik couldn’t help it. Just the sheer pressure of The Goat Man’s power, and without his own essence re-charged, he fell to one knee.
“Shut up . . .” Malik breathed. He didn’t even recall The Goat Man walking toward him. He had done it again, just, moved through time and space as if the rules didn’t apply to him.
“You know I won’t do that, and you also know you can’t make me. So, for once, stay there, and be good for I come bearing good news.” The Goat Man said.
Malik eyed him, mistrusting.
“Have I ever given you any reason at all to mistrust me? I may be a bastard, but I’m always genuine.” The Goat Man said.
Malik said nothing.
“Now, listen well. I’ve come to tell you that soon, our time together, will come to an end. It won’t be long now before you never have to hear my voice, or see me again . . . my haunting of you, will soon, cease forever, and you will finally have the peace of mind you so desire.” The Goat Man said.
Malik tried to hide his excitement, but his eyes gave him away.
“Like the sound of that do you?” The Goat Man asked. “Then pay attention to what I have to say. You deserve your peace, but even if I leave you be, stop whispering to you in the night, will you still have peace of mind?”
Malik said nothing.
“Of course not. I know your thoughts, my Malik. I’m not all that haunts you. Nina’s dead, and you blame him for it. And this, him, this Gisbo Falcon, is dead, is he not? You can’t get your vengeance, so, you in turn take it out on everything and anything to step before you, just to quell that hunger in your soul long enough to find some sleep. Sound about right?” The Goat Man asked.
Again, Malik said nothing.
“What if I were to tell you, that Gisbo Falcon, is alive?” The Goat man revealed. To this, Malik didn’t bother suppressing his surprise. His eyes grew to the size of saucers. New red lines formed, cracking toward his pupils, and his heart suddenly hammered in his chest. One sentence, in place of all the fights he’d been in, had made his heart pump with life again. But no, he must be lying, had to be!
“Impossible. I saw the remains of Heaven’s Shelter, there was no trace of him, or anyone.” Malik said.
“You gave up too easily, assumed too much, but, in the process, you’ve become just as I needed you to be, Malik Strife. A crazed, child of chaos, my child of chaos. But, like every good father, it’s time to release my children to the world, and I have many children, but only few favorites. One of which, is already on the move. Now, it’s time for you to join him and fulfill my needs . . . ah, ah, let me finish. My needs are also your needs.
As I told your brother in chaos, years ago, I’m here, to give you what you want, to help you. I know what your deepest desires are. You want the life of Gisbo Falcon, my child of chaos? I will grant you the opportunity. The Reunion, it’s coming. And you, my dear Malik, are a guest of honor at my table. You, as well as my other guests, will bring all that you have, all that you are to this table, and there you will eat your fill, tear into your meats, lick your bones, and at the end of the meal, one of you, and only one, will give me the answer I have sought my entire life…” the Goat Man said.
Malik cocked an odd, but curious grimace.
“But before all that, you need to wash yourself before I allow you at my table. You need to be clean of mind, clean of heart, and clean of purpose. Answer me, my dear Malik. Who’s at fault for Nina’s death? Is it Gisbo? The one who opened the gate to despair and abandoned her? Or is it you? The one who burned the gate down, with his jealous, spiteful words?” The Goat Man asked.
“I . . . I . . .” Malik started.
“Only one way to find out, my child. If one believes that right and wrong is not universal, that it is only a point of view, that it is only relative, then the only way, the fairest way to find the answer to my question is how?” The Goat Man asked.
“Through Chaos . . .” Malik said. The Goat Man grinned.
“Excellent! Yes, my dear, Malik. Chaos. A fight to the death is the only way to discover the truth. You will pour all of your grievances, all your power, all your conviction into one last battle, bef
ore the war begins. Who ever’s conviction is stronger, will find a way to kill the other. In chaos, only the survivor is in the right, and deep down, my Malik, he craves this fight more than anything. Gisbo Falcon, he’s made many enemies, many rivals, but you Malik, you are the only one to truly scare him. Do you know why?” The Goat Man asked, leaning in, putting his face into Malik’s.
“You represent what he could become.”
The Goat Man let that settle in for a long moment before continuing, as he began to pace back and forth, his hands behind his back.
“You two have been on a collision course since the very beginning, when choices beyond your control set you down your current paths. It’s not nature versus nurture. It’s nature and nurture. Both played a role in what you two have become, and in the end, both will determine who will survive.” The Goat Man said.
“Where is he?” Malik asked.
“Not so fast, my child. Much needs to be done, but first, I need to know if you’re ready. I’m going to reveal something to you, a secret, that only a few on Thera have been privy too, and two of them, are now dead, a secret, about you . . .” The Goat Man said.
Malik raised an eyebrow.
“Depending upon your reaction, I will know if my whisperings to you in the night, shaping your mind for chaos, has not been in vain.” The Goat Man said, halting his pacing, as he cut right to it. “Malik Strife is not your name. You are no Strife. You’re real name, is Malik Narroway, son of Chieftain Narroway, Grandson of Vadid the Valiant, and cousin, to Gisbo Falcon. The peace offering between the Renegades and the Strifes, was you and Ranto, the exchanging of the Chieftain’s sons. Now, the question is this. Knowing that Gisbo Falcon is family, does this change things?” The Goat Man asked.
The Goat Man studied Malik’s face with utmost scrutiny. A mistimed blink, perspiration, a facial tick . . . if such was revealed, he wasn’t ready, but Malik revealed nothing, remained eye contact, and answered with haste.
“It changes nothing. I will take his life, only after I make him feel my pain, and when it is finished, I will toss his remains off the same cliff Nina ended her life.” Malik said, his eyes, for the first time in years, clear and focused. Under his mask, the Goat Man smiled.
“Then, my child, you truly are ready. Now, listen closely, obey, and I shall give you the desires of your heart . . .” The Goat Man said.
Chapter Six: Enter the Man-Phoenix
Stop this foolishness, Drakearon had nothing to do with your friend’s death, or the destruction of your home, you did that. You, YOU, YOU!
“SHUTUP!” Gisbo screamed.
You. Can’t. Win.
“I can’t win,” Gisbo stammered.
“You’ve failed.
“I, I’ve failed . . .” Gisbo muttered.
Leave this place, return to the bottle. Return to peace . . .
“NO!” Gisbo screamed, silencing the doubt in his mind.
Gisbo charged into the blue light and again The Drakeness boiled within him, bubbling out through the cuts in his skin like a bubbling crude.
“One foot, at a time, one foot at a time . . . I . . . I . . .” Gisbo sputtered, when his old shoulder injury suddenly came back to say hello. He let out an unbridled scream of pain and collapsed onto one knee. It felt as if someone had kept a steel dagger in the freezer over night, then, twisted it into the meat of his right shoulder. Fighting through the pain, Gisbo gritted his teeth, too hard, and felt a molar crack in the back of his mouth, as the top tooth stabbed into the exposed nerve.
The pain was transcendent.
Move, own the pain, make it yours! Take every bit of it! Gisbo ordered himself.
He was forced to crawl now, but he was at least moving. It felt as if he was wafting through a powerful river, going upstream. He knew there was a limit for everyone, knew there was a point where . . .
Never accept your limitations! Crawl! Crawl! Gisbo ordered himself.
He managed three more lurches forward, until his body just wouldn’t move anymore. He fell back and tumbled down the hill, rolling back to the bottom where he began.
Gisbo lay on his back now, wheezing, coughing up thick, black, oily mucus, which forced him to roll over to one side and puke until he was dry heaving. Once he had his fill, he managed to roll back over and look up at the sky, breathing hard, and cursing. He heard Fao barking for him to get back up. He tried, expecting a spitfire of pain, but strangely, felt nothing. It had finally happened. His brain had decided to stop sending signals to his body, and that meant one thing . . .
Death.
Whether he had wanted it or not death was coming. He had come so far, given it his all, but still, it wasn’t enough.
“Why? Why am I doing this to myself? What’s the point? ANSWER ME, DAMN YOU!” Gisbo yelled, surprised he was able to speak.
There was no answer.
“Figures, I . . .” Gisbo started.
“Why?” The voice asked.
“Why, what?” Gisbo answered.
“Why do you wish to climb this hill and see what lies above?” The voice asked.
“I don’t know.” Gisbo said.
“Exactly.” The voice said. Gisbo thought on that for a moment, but couldn’t come up with a reply, so the voice gave him one.
“You don’t even know who you are, what you’re supposed to do. How then, will you reach anything, let alone the top of this hill?” The voice asked plainly.
“Who are you?” Gisbo asked.
“Who are you?” The voice asked.
“Stop it, please, just stop, and tell me who you are!” Gisbo asked.
“If you wish to understand who I am, you must first understand yourself. There was a time, I remember, when you lived with purpose. Every step, every stride, every breath, every beat of your heart flowed seamless with your dreams. Then, the worst thing for a dreamer happened. Your dreams, they came true, only to be taken away . . .”
Gisbo couldn’t help it. Kennis’ face appeared in his mind for probably the millionth time. He tried to fight it, but realized, for the first time, he didn’t want to. Her face, at this moment, was comforting, like a beacon in a storm.
“Remember, Gisbo. Remember who you are . . . the light around you; it doesn’t reject you because you’re unworthy. No, it rejects you because you fight it. You’ve been fighting against the light your whole life, keeping it down, afraid to shine, holding yourself back in case things don’t work out. It’s time you poured yourself fully into something, with all your heart. Remember, Destiny calls and win or lose, it is not how you fight but how you choose . . .”
That phrase from the poem he used to read over and again, when all he had were his dreams, dreams that had kept him believing, but more than that, had kept him alive . . . hearing it sent shivers across his body as something moved within him, shifted . . . a memory of a day in the rain . . .
“My boy, you are at a pinnacle point in your life, right now, where your dreams are called into question. Unfortunately, the average person gives up when the going gets tough and instead, accepts a mediocre existence. Life, as we get older, has a nice way of snuffing out who we really are. It’s only the strong that doesn’t let it hinder them. Nothing worthwhile ever comes easy. In fact, it requires all that you are,”
“Dad . . . oh, Dad . . .” Gisbo felt the corner of his eyes moisten, could picture him patting his pockets for his speeches. There was no bottle to halt the memories now, and up they came from the deepest, darkest parts of him . . .
“You cry because your heart is alive. You cry because it hurts you to feel injustices, and not just your own, but others’, too. You are going to help so many people one day, my dear Gisbo, and what power you have to do so! You have the uncanny ability to leap without looking. Your Dad and your Uncle both have that.
You jumped in to save Kinny without any thought of yourself, and I, as well as your friends, am so proud of you for it. You saved her life. Your heart is fully alive; that is why you feel this pain, that is why
you cry. Your heart is too full and scarred. Tears renew it, heal it, and ready it for the coming days. The day you don’t feel something, the day you don’t cry, is when you should be worried. Now sleep, just sleep, all will be better come morning. Calm yourself, honey, shush now and everything will be all right. I am so proud of you, and your dad and your mom would be, too. Sleep, my dear Gisbo, sleep,”
“Barb . . . Auntie Barb . . .” Gisbo stammered, suddenly for the first time in three years, feeling a single tear drip down his face. He was remembering everything. “How, how could I forget such, such . . .”
“Life, as you get older, has a nice way of snuffing out who you truly are. Memories, stories, they exist only to remind you of the way your heart once beat, and how to return to it,”
“It . . . it’s all coming back. The Renegade training, it was all for something . . .” Gisbo said, looking down at Fao, his most loyal friend, freeing yet another vision of his past . . .
“Fao, I want you to do something for me,” Gisbo said.
“Anything,” Fao said.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately and, for me, that’s not saying much. I mean, look at me. When it came to school, I was practically mentally retarded. I know there are others out there like me now and, for them, I want to prove what you just said. I have to make it, I have to become strong, for them. I want to be an example for all the rejects, the losers, the outcasts. I want to show them all that natural talent is a load of crap. With enough guts, with enough tenacity, anything is possible. I’m gonna do this, Fao, even if it kills me. I may not be Vadid, but I’m going to be something better. Me? I’m Gisbo Falcon, dumbass extraordinaire! I’m the Man-Phoenix now, and I’m gonna be the best there ever was! When you do the moonfire this time, I want it to be huge, none of this little stuff. Give me as much as you can; I can take whatever you throw at me,” Gisbo said.