by J. C. Fiske
“If we are to win this day, we both must be willing to embrace a part of that side. Are you ready to put a foot in that place? In the grey, for the sake of not only your life, but your friends’? The future? Are you willing to let us be the ones to take the burden of killing so others won’t have to? It’s in our blood to do so, we have to, and we must look out for one another, to make sure the other foot stays where it is solid, where it is right. For if both feet cross over, we lose ourselves forever. Can you do this? Will you do this?” Rake said.
“Yes,” Gisbo said. Rake tightend his hand around Gisbo’s hand and raised it high.
“Then let’s go save your father,” Rake said. “And then, we go after mine.”
“Let’s,” Gisbo said, smiling.
Chapter Twenty Three: The Fight for Flaria
All was dark, all was quiet, except for the sound of the blowing wind across the Flarian desert. General Scarrr sat atop the captain’s tower within the center of the city, overlooking the desert. Scarrr sat within his chair, antsy, waiting for any signs of the threat that was sure to come. His scouts had reported a gathering of soldiers. He couldn’t quite tell from a distance, but most of them wore blue. The word blue made the proud captain shudder and his burnt skin tighten and itch. For the word blue made him think of the Renegade that disposed of the Elekai’ Elite without much effort. Could a whole army of them really be approaching now? Of all different races? Were they finally ready to come out of hiding after so many long years? Karm had no idea if they even existed until the incident a year ago changed any doubts he had.
No matter how sleep deprived Scarrr was, his body wasn’t about to let him sleep. Not only did Ricard trust him with a batallion of men, but Karm did, as well. The Holy Chosen had been good to them, unlike the people who last resided within these walls. And he was going to follow his Warlord’s decrees to the dot. As was his duty. And if his duty meant killing any rebel Flarians, he welcomed it. With every kill he managed this year after his recovery, even if they were women and children, he got back his confidence in himself after his massive failure in his own city.
“Nice night, sir?” one of the sentry men said as he ascended the stairs and stood beside him.
Scarrr said nothing. He only leaned forward, both elbows on his knees as he gazed across the desert, waiting, watching for any sign of movement. He could feel it. They were going to come tonight. His charred skin throbbed as if he could feel the Flarians’ prescence approaching. Better yet, when they did, they would have a host of Karm’s army waiting for them within the fortress. All was perfect, all was right, and the sentrymen shifted nervously as he gazed across the dessert.
“Sir, I know you told me two nights ago you would be fine up here. But I figured I’d put forth the offer again. There’s a nice bed downstairs with your name on it and I can relieve you of duty,” the sentryman said. Again, Scarrr said nothing.
“Alright, sir, but I . . .” the sentryman started, when suddenly lights appeared in the distance. Scarrr bolted upright, almost trying to convince himself that what he was seeing, waiting for, had finally come. It had.
Out in the desert, just over three hundred yards from the front gates, fifty or so red-lit figures, like pokers from a fireplace, stood, making themselves known.
“Typical Flarian fashion. I knew there would be no cloak and dagger. They have made themselves known. They wish to charge the gate! Sentrymen! Gather the forces and send the signal. Gather them in the courtyard. Everyone, it is time we wiped this blight off our dear planet,” Scarrr said. The sentryman stared out at the red gleaming lights, setting off a twinkling sensation from the white sands upon their feet. Lost in a daze. Scarrr helped him out of it.
With a quick thrust of his arms, Scarrr threw the man down the stairs in tumble of crashing armor. The sentryman looked at him, about to say something, and only saw Scarrr’s outstretched hand, pointed toward where he wanted his men gathered. Without a word, the sentryman leapt to his feet and limped as quickly as he could to follow orders. Scarrr turned back to the open desert and smiled at the twinkling lights. Surely his men weren’t even necessary to take out this small band. The warriors within the Holy Chosen had the numbers to deal with them. Still, he wasn’t about to let them have the fun. He was especially not going to allow anyone to take what may be his final chance to recover what he had lost that day a year ago in the form of killing the final Flarians upon Thera himself .
The excitement flooding within Karm was almost unbearable as he watched his batallion, who easily outnumbered the pathetic Flarian brigade nearly 5 to 1, gather in an orderly fashion, antsy for bloodshed. They seemed like caged beasts clawing at their cages.
Scarrr’s sentryman returned to him after all the forces were gathered and he watched carefully, waiting for the Flarians to move. Karm grinned from ear to ear so much it hurt. They had no idea what was behind the gates waiting for them. The first blasts were fired by the Flarians as some combined their power to send a barrage of fireballs toward the city gates. The firebombs slammed and exploded against the heavy gates. The bursts weren’t dense enough to break through, but they did succeed in setting the doors on fire and, with that, the Flarians charged.
“They are almost within range,” the sentryman said.
“A little closer . . .” Scarrr said, his twisted smile refusing to falter.
“One hundred and fifty yards,” the sentryman said.
“DO IT! OPEN THE GATES!” Scarrr bellowed. The sentryman gave the signal, and the watchtowers on both sides cranked the heavy levers round and round and slowly the gates began to open. The Flarians, noticing this, continued their charge without slowing, until the gates fully opened and every one of Karm’s men gave out a battle cry that snuffed out the Flarians’ like a strong wind to a candle. There was a moment of awkwardness as the small Flarian force came face to face with the might of Karm’s grinning, fully ignited battalion.
“ATTACK! LEAVE NONE OF THEM ALIVE!” Scarrr screamed at the top of his lungs. Karm’s army charged in a barrage of stampeding footfalls that sent the Flarians into a retreat as they turned their backs and ran back out into the desert.
“They’re retreating, sir!” the sentryman said, finding himself grinning.
“Excellent! We will hunt them down and kill every last one of them! To the front lines, sentryman, we have a war to win!” Scarrr said as he activated his Soarian abilities and took flight from the watchtower in a streak of yellow, pursuing the retreating Flarians, itching to dig his daggers into the backs of every one of them.
Karm’s men chased the Flarians across the plains of sand, but the enemy proved quite quick on their feet, used to the sinking feeling of the sand. Worse, men began pointing, swearing that, between the glints of fire and dust, they saw blue uniforms in the midst of the Flarians. This both excited and alarmed Scarrr as he flew over his men like a golden eagle, desperate to catch up to the men in tow, not even realizing that, through his blind rage, he was not the right man for the job, and it was through that blind ignorance the Flarians trap was sprung perfectly . . .
Just as the warriors, both the chasers and the chasees, passed the Sand Lake border and entered into the multitudes of black caves, the Flarian Ronigades, now Renegades once again, led the full battalion of Karm’s men right where they were supposed to. The signal was made and the rest of the Ronigades and Soarians erupted from the caves like arrows loosed from dozens of bows into every blind side of Karm’s forces.
The Soarians activated their air abilities and used their surroundings to their advantage, whipping up a sand storm to blind the oncoming army as the Ronigades plunged their forces into exposed backs and sides. Contact was made . . . the blood of war officially erupted upon the plains of Flaria once more, after centuries of silence.
From the corner of his eye, Scarrr saw the oncoming force and realized the error of his ways. They were now opposed on either side and, to make things worse, the sandstorms struck, blinding their party and making them inc
apable of dodging killing blows or the energy blasts careening into them from every which way, dropping them like fish in a barrel. Scarrr watched from the sky as his men, the men Karm himself entrusted him with, drop like withered stalks, all under his lead. He growled in fury at his own blindness before he saw the men in blue, now clearly visible between the twinkling moonlight and the bursts of red fire as their flashing blades made quick work of his men, Karm’s men.
Scarrr nearly deactivated his innate ability of flight as he looked down from his impressive altitude to see history books come to life before his eyes. If one Renegade in Karm’s courtyard just a year ago had been bad enough, there were now dozens upon dozens of Renegades, all breathing and all fighting, bursting his men open like rotten fruit. Numbers accounted for nothing when one side was blinded and hopelessly outmatched. There wasn’t even any room to retreat, and Scarrr was not about to give up.
Below him, Scarrr spotted a lady Renegade, easily holding her own against two of Karm’s men. Like a falling star, Scarrr dropped from the sky and charged at the woman’s exposed back when a force hit him like a windstorm, because that’s just what it was. It didn’t hurt him, only altered his course and sent him flying back up to the sky where he started his descent. What was the point of that? Scarrr thought. Then he saw why . . .
A lone Renegade now stood before him, floating graciously, as if he were more comfortable in the air than on the ground.
“Who stands before the commander of this army? Who dares interfere with our slaying of this Flarian trash? You there! Answer me!” Scarrr bellowed. The man floated for a moment and did not answer right away. He only drew out two long daggers and ignited them with his already active ring.
“The Fox of Blades dares,” Foxblade said. Scarrr lost his breath for a moment and tried to force himelf to laugh to keep up appearances, but choked instead and went into a coughing fit. The Fox of Blades, up there with the boogeyman. A trick, a joke! Scarrr thought.
Foxblade made a start forward and Scarrr, proud warrior, retreated for the first time in his life, soaring through the sky at the quickest velocity he could muster. He looked back once to see the terrifying man a good hundred yards behind him and knew he was free. Nobody could catch him now. If he wanted, he could make a living somewhere in a small town. Hide out for the rest of his days and never return to Oak County. Nobody would know of his failure. His legacy would be remembered forever. He would be adored for generations to come, lost on the battlefield defending Oak County and, best of all, he would be alive to see it. He smiled wickedly, a hard thing to do with his tightened face against the wind, stretching like latex. Only destiny and life were before him now . . . but unfortunately, so was Foxblade.
Scarrr halted in midair, unable to believe that the man had just cleared nearly 100 yards in an instant.
“Normally, I would let flies like you go, but you said you were the commander of this army. And what is an army without its commander?” Foxblade asked.
“I . . . I don’t know,” Scarrr said.
“Fitting last words. Want to try again?” Foxblade asked.
“I . . . shit,” Scarr gulped.
“Even better. Simply put, an army without a commander to lead them is one thing,” Foxblade said as he raised his daggers slowly. “Blind.”
In a cross motion of the most accurate precision, Foxblade slammed both daggers into the eye sockets of Scarrr’s helmet with two SHUNK noises at precisely the same time as they pierced through the white jelly and penetrated the man’s brain. The heat of the energy caused his eyeballs to melt downward like chunked, running milk.
With that, the once-proud member of the Elekai Elite, slayer of Flarians in distant pasts, fell to the ground to join with the dead, leaving the Elekai’ Elite forever one member short.
Gisbo looked at his friends and watched them hopelessly wandering around the cave where they waited to fight. A major anxiety welled up within him at that moment. It took all he could to fight it and move his feet.
Kennis shook uncontrollably. The thought of fighting frightened her enough, but fighting for her life? For the sake of their family and friends’ survival? It was too much to bear. She had to get away from this. Had to stop thinking about it. Everyone around her was succumbing to the fear. It weighed upon them like an infectious, tangible force. Kennis stood up shakily and stared at the open fortress walls. It was only a matter of time now until the doors closed and they would miss their chance. She felt tears well up in her eyes as she thought about Kinny, Kalloway, and her home back at Heaven’s Shelter. If only she had Kinny beside her. Kinny’s strength would be enough to fill her with courage, as well.
Then she felt a hand in hers. It was tight, strong, and she looked up into Gisbo’s eyes, but he was not the same goofy Gisbo she was used to. His eyes were focused, and his smile was infectious. He held her hand tight and looked her square in the eyes, eyes with a glint of red when he spoke.
“You can save them. You can save them all,” Gisbo said.
“I . . . but,” Kennis started. Gisbo turned and faced the group.
“The hell’s the matter here? Look at you guys!” Gisbos started. All eyes were upon him as his cousin Phil arrived with his group of young warriors.
“Listen, I know what you’re looking for here, and you’re not gonna get it from someone like me. I’m not one for poetry and long ass speeches. All I know is my family is in there and your family’s somewhere else and a bunch of crazy, religious nutbags are going to blow ‘em up! Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m going in there and I’m going to spill all I got, everything I am, everything I’m made of, to keep them safe!”
There was silence as Gisbo’s words echoed throughout their ears.
“And I’m not just talking about them, I’m talking about all of you! I see in front of me the most awesome people I’ve ever known. Want to know why all those stories of wars past, the Renegades, all of that, puts a fire in our guts? Why do such stories make our hearts leap to excitement, and we wish for one chance to be by their sides and be remembered as they are? Well, boys and girls, we’ve got that chance. After tonight, however this goes, they are going to be telling stories about us for years and years to come. How do we want our story to end? What do we want to be remembered for? Do we want people to say that we’re a buncha blue clad misfits, not ready for war, who lost their courage at the time it was needed and brought extinction to the last and greatest warrior culture on the planet? HELL NO! Do we want to live to be fat and old, sitting on a broken hip in a retirement home? NO! We’re Renegades, damn it! We walk our own path, fight our own battles, and nobody is going to kill that for us. Nobody, especially not these cultist bastards!” Gisbo yelled and, in a powerful display of power, he ignited his essence fully for the first time since his training with Foxblade. Even he was surprised. In an explosion of power, and not bothering to use the compression tecnique, he let his power be known.
“On your feet! Come on! Lets let these bastards know who’s coming for them! We do nobody any favors being less than all that we are! Let them feel the weight of our power and let THEM deal with it!” Gisbo screamed. They did as they were told, without question, and grinned all the while and let out cheers.
“Let’s show ‘em all, show everyone, what we got. Leave nothing in you, spill it all, for, tonight, all of us here are Renegades! Tonight, our stories are made!” Gisbo yelled. “RAHHH!”
In a rainbow of colors in a triangle formation, like the tip of an arrow, Gisbo led the Renegades in a screaming charge through the gate, with Phil and his men close behind. However, the Renegades’ charge was halted by something in the courtyard blocking their way, a great something, a powerful, dreadful hulking something. The Mara, Goryelrack, stood with a host of cloaked priests and priestesess behind him that outnumbered their brigade three to one. Gisbo raised a fist and halted his brigade and the two forces eyed each other in silence.
“Excuse me, cousin, but I do believe you’re standing in my spot,”
Phil said as he stood in front of Gisbo, whipped off his shirt, and took off all his weighted accessories. For the first time in years, Phil, in his purest, sober self, stood before them all and looked at the unearthly creature before him, not with fear, but excitement, something the Mara had never come across before. In the bottom of his dark, disgusting form, the Mara’s heart thudded with caution and Phil’s beat along with it.
“I think it’s about time I take this thing off of me, Gizzy. I’m about to fully sober up, and I don’t wish you or your friends to be around when I do,” Phil said as he ripped off the device attatched to his wrist that was connected directly to his blood stream. As he did so, a trickle of blood ran from a small hole in his skin and dripped onto the sand. Phil breathed deeply and closed his eyes.
“And here I thought it was the booze that gave you your power. To think, it’s all natural, and I’m related to you. It makes me proud, Phil. Come back to us,” Gisbo said, planting a hand on his counin’s shoulder.
“I’ll handle this, my dear cousin. We’ve had a lot of laughs and I plan to have a whole lot more. Don’t go dying on me, either. Let’s show these cultists the quality of the McCarley blood tonight,” Phil said as he took a few steps forward and pointed a finger at the immense Mara. “You, ass for brains, let’s do this.”
The Mara laughed, deep and powerful, and took a step forward, cracking the ground with a huge steel footprint the size of a small rowboat.
“Foolish mortal, why, you know not what you . . .” Goryelrack started, only to be struck to the ground by an immense, leaping right hook from Phil that shattered the sound barrier. Phil leapt atop the massive Mara and laid another strike to the steel armor containing the creature’s form, cracking it.
“GO!” Phil yelled and, with that, Goryelrack whacked Phil across the skull and sent him reeling into a building across the courtyard and, in a disturbing roar, he leapt after Phil, who recovered and met the monster halfway within the air and exchanged blows that shook the sands.