by J. C. Fiske
Gisbo issued a clicking noise from his mouth and lowered his hand as if he were calling a dog. He didn’t expect anything to happen, but the rabbit instinctively came hopping toward him and craned its neck to be petted. Gisbo obliged and spent the next few hours pacing around the dome to get the blood flowing through his legs. This time, however, the little rabbit followed him wherever he went. He would run, the rabbit would; he would walk, the rabbit obliged. Gisbo laughed at the little thing and felt his heart stir a little for the creature. He always loved animals, but this thing was different. It provided light, entertainment, and love in his current surroundings. Based on his circumstances, this was the most precious thing in his eyes right now, the only thing not letting darkness fog both his mind and his eyes. He found himself talking to it, sharing things with it, knowing a little bit he was beginning to sound crazy. He almost wished this peace of mind didn’t come because, with it, another feeling arrived.
Hunger.
He hadn’t eaten anything in nearly two whole days. Not even water. At least, he figured two days had gone by. The ache was starting to become unbearable, the anxiety of not knowing where Foxblade was was even worse. He paced again, just to try to get his mind off of it. He felt his insides crawling with discomfort; he felt dizzy, and his mind began to race once more. He picked up the rabbit and held it close to him, breathing hard, and immediately felt better. The little thing felt warm against his chest and his breathing slowed.
How many more hours of restlessness passed, Gisbo had no idea. It felt like an eternity without end. Two days, that’s what Foxblade had told him. He had only felt the urge to sleep once, but now he was feeling that urge again. After this next sleep, Gisbo figured it must be two days and Foxblade would return and let him out of this. But just what was this? Was it something of test? Was he dreaming? Then he felt it, something he never felt before. It was hard to explain, but Gisbo knew what it meant. He remembered reading about the infamous Strife Prison, Glaknabrade. He remembered how they used solitary confinement on their prisoners. No sound, no light, nothing, and, over time, the prisoners would crack and sometimes literally devoured each other. Their minds would be reduced to butter, and then they could be controlled. Was he about to lose it? That tug he felt within his mind, it frightened him.
He gripped the little rabbit even closer to him now, forced his eyes closed, and focused on the rabbit’s warmth. He immediately felt better. He couldn’t lose it. He just couldn’t. He just needed to sleep, that was all. Then, it would be two days.
When Gisbo awoke, he opened his eyes again, his heart skipped to see light, but it was only because the rabbit was sleeping in front of his face on the cave floor. Nothing had changed. Gisbo cursed and wailed upon the ground before picking up the little slumbering rabbit again. The calm came once more and Gisbo relaxed. He held the rabbit up and looked him in the eyes and smiled.
“You are such a lifesaver, little guy,” Gisbo said, before hugging it to him again like a child’s stuffed animal. Just a few hours, he said, two days. The day’s not over yet, that’s all. He’ll be here, Gisbo thought to himself. Even so, doubt entered his heart and he fought to dismiss it. He couldn’t bear to let that seed grow. It would ruin him and, once again, he would feel that tugging in his head.
Many hours passed and, once more, Gisbo felt the urge to sleep coming on, but before he could fall asleep, the voices started. They were mere whispers at first and only said his name.
Gisbo . . . the voice hissed. He had no idea if it was coming from within his own mind or from the cave itself, so he dismissed it.
GISBO! The voice suddenly boomed, providing its own echo, causing Gisbo to jump. Gisbo waited to see if the voice was going to start again, but it didn’t. All he heard was his stomach give out a lurching groan. This time, it hurt, badly. Gisbo let go of the rabbit and dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach. He was shaking all over and his throat felt so dry. He dropped on his hands from there like a dog and felt an upchuck coming. He heaved, but nothing came up but saliva and yellow phlegm. He heaved again, only to have nothing this time, followed by a few more dry heaves. He couldn’t take much more of this. This… Just what was this again? Gisbo thought. The tugging returned. Gisbo crawled toward the rabbit, focusing on its white light.
“Oh, Puff, come here, buddy . . .” Gisbo said, unconsciously naming the little rabbit. He held it in his arms like a child, rocking back and forth. Comfort came again and he breathed a sigh of relief, but not for long as the voices came again. Gisbo blocked his ears, but still they came. He felt his mind tug again. This time he felt it strain like a rope pulled too tightly and instinctively hugged the rabbit tighter. He felt the need to sleep again and laid right there, grasping at the little rabbit, and found sleep quickly, moreso out of survival than necessity or desire. He had a dreamless sleep and his eyes popped open again after unguessable hours. It could have been minutes for all he knew. Again, there was darkness, except for the rabbit, that lovely rabbit, but now the rabbit had a name.
“Good boy, Puff,” Gisbo tried to say, but it came out dry and weak. His throat felt like it had been massaged with sandpaper. It was shredded and dry and each syllable hurt. He rubbed at his throat with his fingers, only to then rub his aching stomach.
This is your own prison . . . A voice said in the darkness. . . . kill the rabbit.
Gisbo felt his head tug and grasped the rabbit to him. He felt dread envelop him like a pot boiling over. The voice sounded horrible. Did it really just ask him to kill the rabbit? To kill Puff? No, he was just thinking it.
Kill the rabbit . . . the voice boomed again, louder. Gisbo shook all over and breathed hard.
It holds you back. The longer you hold onto innocence, the quicker you will die, the voice said. Gisbo breathed deeply and swallowed a bit of saliva, trying to coat his throat enough to answer the voice, but couldn’t.
Kill it . . . the voice said. Gisbo looked down at Puff. Its little ears spiraled about, its big, dewy eyes looked into his own.
“I won’t kill Puff . . .” Gisbo managed to squeak.
Then you will die, the voice said. The word “die” seemed to have more echo than anything he had heard thus far.
This is your own prison. Kill the rabbit and be free, the voice said.
“No,” Gisbo said.
Then die, the voice said. Gisbo felt his eyes moisten.
This is your prison. You will starve to death. Kill the rabbit and consume it, the voice said. Gisbo did not answer. He felt his insides on fire now. Consume. The word echoed through his mind. He looked at the rabbit again, perched in his lap, perfectly trusting him. It snuggled against his stomach, rubbing its head into him. Gisbo felt moisture come to his eyes once again.
Kill the rabbit, the voice said again. This is your prison. Do it. Or starve.
“I . . . can’t,” Gisbo stammered.
Then die, the voice said.
“STOP SAYING THAT!” Gisbo tried to scream, but it came out instead in a hoarse whisper. He immediately regretted yelling. His throat burned like fire.
Die, the voice said, taunting him. Instinctively, Gisbo felt his hands wrap around the rabbit’s neck. He felt his mind tugging.
Kill it. Consume it. Be free. Only you can free yourself.
“Puff did nothing wrong,” Gisbo said.
Neither did you. Niether did many of Narsissas’s followers. Even so, they have their resolve to kill you. They have a vision of a future they want. Your compassion, in the end, will kill you. And without you in this world, without the Man-Phoenix to oppose the Man-Dragon, without balance, this world will change forever. It will end not in fire, not in destruction, but in darkness. Without free will, without light, without passion. There is only darkness. The Man-Dragon will win.
“Is that what this is all about? Some kind of test?” Gisbo mumbled hoarsely.
If you cannot kill an innocent rabbit to sustain and save yourself from starvation, what hope do you have against an innocent twisted in the
ways of the Holy Chosen?
“I . . .” Gisbo stammered.
What reason do you have to kill this creature?
“To live. To take its life, its nutrients, so that I may live,” Gisbo said.
Correct. Are there any other options provided to you, anything you can do to not kill? the voice asked.
“There are none,” Gisbo said.
Then, and only then, must you kill. When no other options are before you. Then, and only then. When your purpose is threatened and there is no other way, only then must you kill. Only to save a life, or your own, must you kill. Do you understand?
“I, I think I finally do . . .” Gisbo said.
Prove it. Pay respect to the life you are about to take, for in the end, your life will be respected and required for something else. There is a cycle to this world. That is how it works. In the end, what you take will be given back. Set yourself free.
Gisbo took a look at Puff below him, then raised his eyes to the ceiling. He felt the little rabbit’s frail neck within its soft fur.
When you have the resolve to live, to see a purpose fulfilled, must you kill. Kill to Live, Gisbo . . . the voice said.
“Puff . . .” Gisbo stammered, tears swimming in his eyes. It was more than just killing a rabbit. He was killing his source of hope and light. In his heart, and especially in his stomach, he knew he had no other choice. Foxblade had promised his return. Gisbo looked away and snapped the rabbit’s neck.
It was over in an instant. Puff did not utter a sound.
Tears swam in Gisbo’s eyes as he held the limp little form in his hands, when suddenly the rabbit burst into brightness and the darkness was washed away in a purging light, so brilliant everything went white and, before he knew it, he was back within the cave with Foxblade standing over him.
“What you just did was very hard to do. You have passed the test,” Foxblade said. Gisbo rubbed at his head.
“It was all an illusion? That entire time? But it was so . . .” Gisbo said, shuddering and staring at his hands that, just a moment ago, snapped a creature’s neck.
“Real? It was supposed to be. Every Renegade has gone through exactly this ordeal. Did you think you would be different?” Foxblade asked.
“I feel terrible,” Gisbo said.
“Do not. This was an excersise. None of it was real, but it was real to you. It was supposed to be difficult. You had to find a part of yourself to kill something that provided you hope, comfort, and innocence. The innocence within you is what the rabbit represented. If you couldn’t bring yourself to kill a rabbit to feed yourself, what hope would you have to kill a human seeking to kill you? This was an exercise to get you to a mental state of neutrality, to embrace nothing as you kill. It is hard for everyone; you have a right to feel terrible,” Foxblade said. Gisbo shook his head.
“That’s not it. I’m not feeling bad because it was hard to do. I’m feeling bad because it came too easy . . .” Gisbo said. His words sort of hung out there, surprising even Foxblade.
“Gisbo?” He heard a familiar voice as Rolce and another figure stepped out of the shadows, looking at him worriedly.
“Rolce? The hell are you doing here? And Nina, too? What’s going on?” Gisbo asked.
“Rolce is the one who put you into that state of darkness. Something only a Sybil could do. He and Nina are here with us and are going to assist us in the next step in your training, but first, why don’t we take a break? You’ve earned it,” Foxblade said. Gisbo stood stationary as Rolce and Nina stared at him, not forgetting the words he just spoke. Rolce made his way toward him.
“It wasn’t real, Gisbo, just relax,” Rolce said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Coulda fooled me,” Gisbo said.
“I was there, watching you. You didn’t want to kill that rabbit. I saw you fighting the decision,” Rolce said.
“That’s exactly it, Rolce. I don’t know where it came from, but, being in that darkness for so long . . . I was fighting the urge, not the decision, Rolce. There was a part of me that wanted to do it. It was powerful. It scared the ever-living crap out of me,” Gisbo said, slumping to the ground.
Rolce opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
“There’s something wrong with me, Rolce. I feel something in me slipping. Ever since I discovered something within me, a door, I have felt myself slipping ever since. I feel like, like something’s broken . . . inside me. I’ve had night terrors; I’ve felt this powerful rage in me. Something I haven’t felt since my days at Oak County. I . . . I’m starting to believe they were right about me,” Gisbo said. Rolce sat down beside him.
“I, I really don’t know what to say,” Rolce said, shock to his voice.
“You don’t need to do it alone,” Nina said, as she too made her way beside Gisbo. “If anything, that’s the worst possible thing to do.”
“I don’t like this. Not one bit,” Gisbo said. Nina and Rolce both looked at each other with heavy eyes.
“So, what are you guys doing here, anyway?” Gisbo said, trying to quickly change the subject.
“I have been training Nina these past few days. She is a Sybil, Gisbo, and her powers were just waiting to explode out of her. I gave them the outlet they needed and now she is nearly on par with my own skills,” Rolce said. Gisbo turned.
“Really? How can she learn so quickly like that?” Gisbo asked.
“Sybil powers have been there all along. She just needed to know how to release them. Every day that goes by, both of us get stronger as our powers evolve on their own. They come from another source, another kind of energy beyond the elements, and as our bodies mature, this source provides us with more power. It is quite amazing, actually, and, even moreso, how our powers seem to differ,” Rolce said.
“Differ?” Gisbo asked.
“Yes, Nina sees things in dual perspectives. She sees what could be if certain conditions are met, or are not met, whereas I only see what is happening currently. I can only see the future in small blips of what will actually happen. Me and Nina are never on the same wavelength. If anything, she has the power to change the future based on the present, which will dictate what I will eventually see,” Rolce said.
“Jeesh, how can you two handle something like that?” Gisbo asked.
“I suppose we were made to,” Rolce said.
“On top of which, we have differing powers. Powers that you will soon see, Gisbo. They are quite incredible,” Rolce said with a huge grin.
“Well, ain’t that something,” Gisbo said. Foxblade then made his way over, tossing Gisbo a waterskin.
“Drink up. Much to do,” Foxblade said. Gisbo did as he was told and tossed it back to him. Foxblade threw it to the side of the cave.
“First off, Rolce has a few gifts for you. Go ahead, Rolce,” Foxblade said. Rolce unstrapped his pack with a grin and flicked Gisbo a shiny red ring.
“Thank goodness, I’ve been needing one of these,” Gisbo said, putting it on and kissing the top of it. “What else you got for me?”
Rolce then pulled out a couple turkey legs from his pack and tossed them to Gisbo, who ate them greedily, practically inhaling them. When he was finished, Rolce pulled out a long, wrapped object and handed it to him.
“Here, wipe your hands on this,” Rolce said with a grin. “Soarians just finished making these today.”
Gisbo took the package. It felt light in his hands. He unwrapped it to find two identical weapons. They were too long to be daggers, but not long enough to be swords. Gisbo held them both up. They were weighted and felt wonderful in his hands, unlike daggers.
“What are these things?” Gisbo asked, marveling at the craftsmanship.
“Your new permanent weapons, Gisbo. They are known as Tantos. Primarily used for stabbing like a dagger, but, unlike a dagger, they can be used for slashing, too, much like your Talon sword,” Foxblade said.
“They feel a lot better than daggers, that’s for sure,” Gisbo said, taking a few swipes
at the air.
“I’ve been studying you carefully, Gisbo. You have a style all your own and I feel the Tanto is just the right weapon for you. You are great with your fists, not only striking-wise, but have the rhythm and timing between your right and your left hands. Your speed and power have stayed the same, even with your injury. The only thing that has changed is your ability to use a certain tool. From this moment on, you should not consider yourself a Berserker any longer. You are in a class all your own now. These Tantos are special and a bit longer than the average, with some more heft so you can block and parry heavier weapons. They are normally not used for dual wielding, either, but something tells me they will work wonders for someone like you. When I’m done with you, Gisbo, you will be unlike any other warrior out there. You will be what a Renegade dreams of, something beyond his class, something all his own. And that is what being a Renegade is all about,” Foxblade said.
“Well, let’s get started!” Gisbo said, shaking with excitement.
Chapter Nineeteen: Foxblade’s Past Revealed
Foxblade removed his daggers from their hilts and ignited their essence. Many flashbacks occurred of the fights Gisbo had seen Foxblade partake in. He was about to go toe to toe with one of the greatest of his generation and, perhaps, of all time, and, unlike his father, compassion would not get in the way. Gisbo took a step back and ignited his own essence into his new Tantos, bursting them into a fiery red.
“You’re afraid of me,” Foxblade said.
“I . . .” Gisbo said.
“You should be. Without fear, you can never grow stronger,” Foxblade said. And in a sprinted motion, Foxblade vaulted himself forward into a tuck and roll and came out of it with a rising dagger, which plunged directly into Gisbo’s kidney. The pain was like nothing Gisbo had felt before. He felt the coldness of the steel enter his body and felt it pierce through his insides. The sound was far worse, at least, he thought it was, until Foxblade ripped it out, a gush of blood behind it, causing him to collapse.