Renegade Reborn

by J. C. Fiske

  “If Rolce dies tonight, if we all die! It’s on you! IT’S ON YOU, YOU DAMNED SELIFSH PRICK!” Jackobi called after him, but his words fell on deaf ears.

  Jack put his hands on his hips, cursed violently, retrieved his daggers, powered them up, teleported, and returned to the fighting.

  Rolce flew backward, three of his ribs cracked from Ranto’s giant, spinning back fist. He would have hit the wall, and possibly snapped his neck if not for Jackobi, who appeared right behind him, and managed to catch him, but at the cost of his own balance. The two Synergy Mates went tumbling and tumbling until they both came up against the wall, Jackobi, right side up, and Rolce, upside down.

  “We have to get out of here, or call in the other armies.” Jack said. “Now.”

  “No,” Rolce said weakly, rising back up to his feet, only to collapse into a heap. Jackobi leaned forward and it was only then did he see the true extent of Rolce’s damaged face. His friend’s eyes were but slits, swelled shut, and the color of eggplants. His nose was smashed in, twisted to one side, like a rung out rag, and both of his lips were split wide open. Silently, Jackobi cursed Gisbo’s name.

  “Rolce, we have to retreat, now, count our losses and face reality. Oak County is lost. We can’t risk the Flarian and Soarian armies. We must regroup, prepare for the final battle, and,” Jack started.

  “He’ll come . . .” Rolce stammered, trying to get back up again, and managing to get to one knee.

  “Rolce, he’s not coming . . . I’ve seen his heart, and . . .” Jack said.

  “But, but you haven’t seen what I’ve seen, have you?” Rolce asked plainly.

  “Rolce . . .” Jackobi said, grabbing his friend by the arm, trying to help him stand back up.

  “He’s going to come, he’s going to end this, and until he does, I’m going to keep fighting, with, or without you,” Rolce said, as he shook off Jack’s grasp on his arm, got up on his own, and stared out across at Ranto, who stood, silently, arms folded, waiting.

  “Rolce, he’ll kill you . . . don’t . . .” Jack pleaded.

  “I’LL KILL YOU!” Malik shouted from above. Jack had time to turn, and look up to see an Oak County soldier along the wall lose his head, then, using his neck stump as a spring board, Malik Strife leapt up, then swooped down on him, flying at Jackobi like a bird of prey. Jack had time to power up his essence, and throw his body weight, and daggers forward in order to match the velocity and weight of Malik’s dual, curved blades. There was a spray of sparks as the blades struck one another. The two stood there now, locked, pushing, and testing each other’s strengths.

  “You’re his friend, aren’t you? One of his best?” Malik asked, grinning wickedly. Jackobi gritted his teeth. He couldn’t speak. It took all he could just to hold Malik to a stationary position. “You think you can take me. Can’t you?”

  Jack replied with a sweeping kick, trying to take out Malik’s balance, but Malik merely lifted his leg up, leaving Jack the one fighting for balance, but only for a moment, as Jack broke free of the weapon lock and flung his body forward into a tumble, past Malik’s right side, and came dagger up, aiming for Malik’s jugular, but only hit air, as Malik dodged the strike, and countered with his own, longer, heavier blade. On they went now, Malik on the attack, Jackobi on the defense, slicing, dodging, feigning, in a swirling dance where the slightest misstep, meant death.

  Meanwhile, Rolce was making no headway in his fight against Ranto, who now, was merely acting upon his deepest, darkest of pleasures, sadism, and domination, and like a master surgeon, he pried, struck, and stabbed at a beyond beaten Rolce, loving the way he grunted, bled, and cried, but also, loving how he kept coming back for more, and more! It was exhilarating, but he knew the feeling wouldn’t last. Rolce was now moving, and swaying with the grace of a three-legged moose. Now, it was no longer enjoyable. With a quick charge, Ranto clotheslined him with his forearm, sweeping Rolce right off his feet and onto his back. He knew he wouldn’t be getting back up, and like a shark, he circled around him now, taking in the scent of blood, sweat, and tears, all caused by him. The smell was intoxicating, and Ranto, breathed it in deeply, as if it were a fine wine.

  “I find it funny, that here, in your final moments, I can’t help but think of way back when, the time I first spoke to you, and challenged you to an eating contest. So silly, I know . . .” Ranto said.

  Rolce coughed up blood, and let out a low, grinding wheeze.

  “ . . . I really did pick you out that day, because, well, I thought that a guy of your size could give me a challenge, but, we both know how that went.” Ranto said, frowning now. “Your idiot friend had to jump in, and ruin everything . . . I sometimes wonder how different of a man I would be today, if me, and your friend had never crossed paths . . .”

  Ranto then reached down and picked Rolce up by the collar, as if he weighed nothing, so that he could look him straight in the eyes.

  “But I never wonder for long. It’s a shame. I didn’t want it to end this way. I never had anything against you, Rolce, other than you were friends with that blithering idiot, and I know that you would never allow the world I want to come to pass. They say your faith, Rolce, is your strongest asset. Ironic, how your faith in your friend, has lead you here . . .” Ranto said he raised back his fist, ready to throw it straight through Rolce’s face.

  “SIR! SIR!” A shrill voice called from behind them. Ranto spun around to see a Strife clad in Nazarite attire drop to one knee and lower his head in reverence.

  “Captain Janis . . .” Ranto snapped, cocking his head around to face him. “For your sake, this had better worth the interruption . . .”

  “Reports from the wall sensory squad, Sir! We all felt it! Something, something big is coming this way, and coming in fast!” The Strife said, genuine worry to his tone. Ranto tossed Rolce aside as if he were a bag of leaves and turned to face Janis, who remained on one knee with his head still lowered.

  “What is it?” Ranto asked. At this, Janis looked up. Ranto was used to his men trembling in his presence, but this man shook for an entirely different reason.

  “An army, Sir, an army . . . of Flarians, coming this way from the south gate!” Janis said. At this, Ranto’s eyes grew large, then, he closed them, stretched out his hand, activated his Drakeness, and hovered it in the air, searching, sensing, then, opened his eyes, and turned back to Janis.

  “I sense nothing! Rolce! Did you call them for them? You fool! You . . . “ Ranto started, when suddenly, from below him, Rolce, began to chuckle, then laugh.

  “I feel it too, but, I, I called no one.” Rolce said.

  “What did you say?” Ranto asked.

  “He’s, he’s coming . . .” Rolce said.

  “You’re delusional, both of you, no one is . . .” Ranto started, and then he felt it too, like an explosion in his head, definitely of Flarian origins, so bright, so huge, it was too much to focus on, like trying to count kernels of sand in a windstorm. He felt his heart leap up into his chest, felt gooseflesh tear across his body, felt a bead of cold sweat drip down and cling to the tip of his nose. This was no army . . .

  It was one man.

  “S-see?” Rolce asked.

  “Impossible . . .” Ranto said as he noticed that all around him, he wasn’t the only one who felt the oncoming power. Strifes, Oak County Soldiers, Malik’s men, and even Malik himself had subconsciously, halted their fighting, all glancing about with unease, feeling the weight of something, something they didn’t quite understand, coming straight for them . . .

  Suddenly, the ground began to vibrate, then outright quake, and from the splits in the earth, fire, blue fire, shot up in a series of walls, cutting off friend, from foe, forcing a cease attack from all sides, as the flames, now began to grow, and move, seemingly at random at first before it all came clear. Something, was herding them, like sheep, and before long, on one side of the flames, stood Ranto and Malik’s Green and Black Armies, and on the other stood The Renegades and the army of O
ak County, and between them, stretched a pathway right down the middle, toward the open gates . . .

  “This is . . . ” Crass Bastio started, as he reached out, and touched the blue flames. It was as if he just woke from a deep, relaxing sleep, but more than that, a fire in his belly started, and crawled up, straight into his heart, filling it with resolve, passion, and erasing any fear. He looked about to see everyone else was doing the same, but across the way, it was an entirely different story. Every time the Strifes, or Malik’s men touched the flames, the flames did as they were supposed to. They bit, and they burned, and depending on just who touched them, they bit and burned to various degrees, even eradicating an unfortunate few who got too close.

  “I-I feel, I feel like I can take on Drakearon himself!” Whip Miles screamed loudly down the line.

  “I feel so, so . . . confident! What is this?” Glinda asked, a big smile stretching across her face. She then felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Niffin, reaching out, touching her hand in the flames. She had tears in her eyes, and a huge grin on her face, so big, it looked as if it stung a little.

  “Phoenix Fire . . . Gisbo’s here!” Niffin said.

  “Gisbo?” Glinda asked, saying the name as if she had never heard it spoken before.

  Ranto stood in the pathway between the flames, alone, out in the open, feeling as vulnerable as a rodent from the perspective of an eagle, an eagle, he couldn’t see, only sense. The power source, it seemed to be all around him now, penetrating him, weighing him down . . .

  “Where are you?” Ranto muttered under his breath, staring down the pathway toward the open gates. He then felt Rolce stir below, and looked down to see that he was still struggling to breathe, but still had that big smile upon his face. He hated it. Ranto was about to raise his foot up to drop it down on Rolce’s face, ending any and all future smiles, when he felt his throat squeeze shut, and grow dry.

  There, through the gates, from the forest, were two, emblazoned fireballs, just, floating there, in the darkness. Ranto blinked furiously, swiped a forearm across his eyes. Sure enough, they were still there, but more than that, they were moving . . .

  Ranto felt himself swallow, and breathe out an uneasy, shaky breath as he wiped away another bead of cold sweat, and watched as the red fireballs bounced back and forth, back and forth, as if they somehow, impossibly, had legs beneath them.

  “Can’t be you, no way in . . .” Ranto muttered, and then, the fireballs breached the gates, and stood in the firelight. They weren’t fireballs in the slightest. They were eyes, eyes lit in red fire, eyes belonging to . . . there was no mistaking it . . .

  Gisbo Falcon had returned to Oak County.

  Chapter Twenty Eight: The Reunion

  Gisbo walked down the cobble stoned street of his childhood home, doing his best to not let his mind or vision wander and conjure up memories. If he was to maintain focus, maintain his Phoenix power, he needed to keep not the past, but the future on his mind, he needed to . . .

  He then felt a Fao’s cold nose rub against his hand, and follow it up with a warm lick from her tongue, her way of saying, you won’t be doing this alone. Gisbo allowed himself to look down, and was met with his wolf, brandishing a doggy smile. Gisbo smiled back, and took in a deep breath. It felt good he wasn’t alone. As he walked past the boarded up homes, he could already feel the anxiety brimming up in his chest, could feel the eyes of the citizens of Oak County, gazing at him with their untrusting, nervous eyes . . .

  Gisbo could feel negative thoughts brewing in the back of his mind, and he whacked each one down.

  Don’t believe everything you think. Don’t believe everything you think. Gisbo thought, over and over again, as he put one foot in front of the other, made it past the housing sector, and walked through the gates of the castle courtyard. Instantly, deja vu set in, and he was reminded of the last time he was here, when he battled Thomson Ricard, when a then, General Ricard, Leader of the Elekai’ Elite, was inches away from slicing his throat, but he refused to dwell, couldn’t dwell. Instead, he let his hand drop to his wolf next to him, and rub the top of her head, remembering how it was here where he had seen his first Renegade, his first Elekai’ battle, and where he had met his first, and best friend, Rolce Moordin.

  With these thoughts filling his mind, he then raised a ringed finger to the sky, called out her name, and in a flash, Fao disappeared, absorbed into him, and together, as one, they called upon the Moon Fire, and said the words of power, only this time, the phrase needed to be altered, just a bit, but what a difference it would make!

  “My sword, I call upon thee! My eyes are ablaze, and now I do see, may the power of fire . . . let it flow through me!” Gisbo screamed as he thrust the Phoenix Blade to the sky and summoned the pack of the glimmering moon, only this time rather than a dozen, hundreds of ghostly, sparkling wolves appeared to give their support, filling up nearly the entire pathway behind him. Once organized, a certain ghost wolf that Gisbo recognized made his way forward and stood beside him, giving a slight bow of respect.

  “It’s good to see you again, Gisbo Falcon. What would you request of Jeshua, and the pack of the glimmering moon?” Jeshua asked.

  “Good to see you too, old friend.” Gisbo said, kneeling down, and rubbing the wolf behind its ears. Though he was translucent, he was still solid and greatly appreciated the gesture. “Protect my friends, destroy my enemies, but only on my mark . . .”

  “It shall be done.” Jeshua said, bowing out, and backing away to rejoin as leader of his pack, which stood like a river of shimmering diamonds between the walls of blue fire holding back the two armies.

  Gisbo watched him go, smiled, gave a nod to the wolf, then stood up to his full height, turned and was met with the eyes of Ranto Narroway, standing a stone’s throw away.

  “So, the prodigal son returns, and already he wastes his power for those unworthy. How . . . weak,” Ranto said. “How . . .”

  But Gisbo did not reply, only stared at him with a zen-like, emotionless face, as if he didn’t process one word Ranto said.

  “He’s, so much, older . . . I can see it in his face! But, how can that be possible? Look at him, Niffin. The old Gisbo would have said some sort of snappy, juvenile remark, but now, he’s so, mature!” Glinda said, talking in a, unbeknownst to her, dreamy voice, when Gisbo suddenly walked to his left stepped through the fire, and put out a hand.

  “Whip Miles,” Gisbo said in a very orderly voice. Just the voice alone sent Whip’s senses into confusion. It was Gisbo’s, he was sure of it, but it was somehow, older, deeper, strained, and then, he touched his hand. To him, it felt as if he were shaking the hand of his late father. It was loaded with calluses and scars, and was as rough as sandpaper. He wanted to say something, anything to his long, lost friend, but nothing came.

  “Grandfield Groggo,” Gisbo said in the same, orderly voice, as he extended a hand. Grandfield took it, but weakly. He was too caught up in studying Gisbo’s features, his fiery red eyes channeling the Phoenix power, his thick beard, his long, mane-like hair . . .

  “Gisbo? Is that really you?” Grandfield asked.

  “Is that how you shake a man’s hand?” Gisbo asked, cocking an eye downward. Grandfield looked down, and realized that this whole time, he hadn’t been shaking his hand, but Gisbo’s right index finger.

  “I . . .” Grandfield started.

  “Too late,” Gisbo said, as he snapped his finger back with Grandfield still holding on, and ripped an ass blast of epic proportions, and just like that, Gisbo’s stone cold face, and rigidness broke, as he, Grandfield, and Whip erupted into the kind of laughter, on the kind of subject that only boys who call themselves men can appreciate.

  “I take it back, I take it all back . . .” Glinda said in a huff, folding her arms, and shaking her head, watching the three buffoons smack, and hug each other.

  “No wonder you were looking so rigid walking down that road! To hold in a fart like that? Oh, man, you had me going there f
or a second!” Grandfield said.

  “I was saving that one especially for you, bud! Boy, think the nerves are getting to me . . . whew, this is quite the predicament we’re in, huh, boys?” Gisbo asked, smiling.

  “Gisbo Falcon. It’s good to have you back, but this, this is . . .” Whip said, feeling the fire all around him.

  “Still have some kinks to work out, but hey, think I’m doing pretty well so far, right?” Gisbo asked. “But yeah, before I go, Grandfield Groggo? Whip Miles? You have been two of my closest friends, but I wanted to ask you, right here, right now. Will you fight with me? Until the end?” Gisbo asked. The two of them looked at one another.

  “What? You think I squeezed into this thing for religious reasons!? Now I know what a damned sausage feels like! Of course I’m fighting, and Shaved’s fighting with us!” Grandfield said. Gisbo pumped Grandfield’s hand hard at this.

  “For Shaved . . .” Gisbo said.

  “I can get behind that. I almost didn’t believe it was you for a minute there, but yup, there it is, the wet dog smell’s back!” Whip said. “Of course we’re with you!”

  Gisbo grinned, and smacked them both in the shoulders.

  “Thanks, guys. Thank you so much,” Gisbo said, as he made his way down the line until he was standing before Anaka and Glinda. He stood there for a moment, then, dropped to one knee, and took both of their hands in his, squeezed them together gently, kissed the top of them, and held both the girl’s hands against his forehead, bowing.