Renegade Rupture

by J. C. Fiske

  “They’re funny,” Gisbo said.

  “As well as incorrect,” Jackobi said.

  “Gisbo I can understand; I trained him myself and he dropped the boat oar as a weapon, but you, Falcon? I cannot fathom,” Foxblade said.

  “Former Elekai’ Exhibition Champion! Do you have a tattoo on your arm like, ohhhh, wait, no, no, you don’t,” Falcon said smiling, pointing to the one and only championship tattoo branded this generation on his arm. Foxblade glared at him and didn’t respond. He only walked away.

  “I sort of wish this were like the old days, Renegade against Renegade. I’d love to go at it with him again,” Falcon said.

  “Did you last time?” Gisbo asked.

  “Yup,” Falcon said.

  “And?” Jackobi asked.

  “Ask him about it,” Falcon grinned.

  “So you beat him? How?” Gisbo asked.

  “By doing the unexpected,” Falcon said. “I prepared.”

  “Say what? But you never prepare for anything!” Gisbo said.

  “Exactly,” Falcon said.

  “He put a laxative in Foxblade’s water flask before the match,” Jackobi muttered.

  “So you cheated? Hah! No, no way,” Gisbo said as he burst out in hysterical laughter.

  “Don’t say that too loud. He gets embarrassed,” Falcon said. “But, oh damn, you should have seen it. He just leaped off the stage out of nowhere and eliminated himself. It was great; he never heard the end of it and has been waiting for this tournament again, preparing, possibly just to not go mad!”

  Gisbo recalled Foxblade’s private training grounds and the cuts across his skin and shuddered.

  “But, unfortunately, this tournament is under different circumstances now. Just be glad tall, dark, and moody is on our side. Still, I’d love to see him jump off that stage grabbing his boney ass again. Oh, what would I give,” Falcon said.

  Jackobi offered a rare laugh and then looked up, embarrassed.

  “Don’t ever tell him I just, you know,” Jackobi stopped, unable to say the word. Falcon planted a hand on his shoulder.

  “Secret’s safe with us, but for how long is up to you,” Falcon said.

  “What? Are you, are you blackmailing me?” Jackobi asked.

  “Nah, that’s what Shininjas do,” Falcon said.

  “And what do Berserkers do?” Jackobi asked.

  “They improvise. I’ll think of something, don’t you worry,” Falcon said, grinning. Jackobi looked to Gisbo for support and got none.

  “Well, that’s one name I didn’t expect to see,” Shaved said as he stepped forward to inspect the list.

  “Dude, you’re a Shininja! Of course you’re on the list!” Gisbo said.

  “I was actually talking about you,” Shaved said, grinning.

  “Jerk,” Gisbo said.

  “Come on, let’s get the gang together to help us practice as much as we can until it’s time,” Shave said.

  “Sounds good to me,” Gisbo said.

  “Jackobi and I will grab Niffin. She said she’d help us train. You go ahead and grab Rake because you’re the only one he’ll really talk to for some reason,” Shaved said. “Why? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Hell if I know?” Gisbo said, shrugging. “But wait, Shaved, I got a better idea. Whatever you’ve been doing to practice, you too, Jack, is nothing compared to training with Rolce.”

  “But he didn’t make it,” Jack said.

  “Of course not, he’s big and slow. Just trust me. I’ll go find them both; you guys meet at our tree house,” Gisbo said, running off without a look back.

  “He’s so one track minded,” Shaved said, watching him run away.

  “Which is why we need him. He’s stubborn as a brick once his mind is set on something,” Jack said.

  “Hah, brick? Please. I’ve seen a brick shatter over that thing he calls a head. It didn’t stand a chance,” Shaved said. Jack smiled. “I’ve known of you for a while, but don’t think we’ve ever been officially introduced. Just call me Shaved. Any friend of Gisbo’s is a friend of mine.”

  Shaved put out his hand as Jack stared at it, a little awkwardly.

  “You’re supposed to shake it,” Shaved said.

  “Oh, oh right, sorry, I just . . . yeah, I suppose I don’t get out too often,” Jack said as he shook Shaved’s hand.

  “Me either, we’re Shininjas,” Shaved said with a smile. “If you don't mind me asking, how is he doing?”

  “Gisbo?” Jackobi asked. His mind went to the premonition within Honj’s chamber.

  “Yeah,” Shaved said.

  “He’s fine,” Jackobi said.

  “That’s good to hear. You know, when I first came here, besides Grandfield, Gisbo was the first friend I ever had. Do me a favor; as his synergy mate, look after him. He’s a good guy, and he’s been through hell lately,” Shaved said.

  “If only I had a choice in the matter,” Jackobi said, fighting back a grin.

  “Come on, we’ll talk and walk. I hate to waste time,” Shaved said. Jackobi’s eyebrows rose.

  “Me too,” Jackobi said, smiling.

  Shaved smiled as he started to walk. Jackobi stood there for a moment, looking at Shaved, then back at his own hand.

  “First friend . . . hm,” Jackobi muttered to himself.

  “Coming?” Shaved asked, turning around.

  “Right behind you,” Jack said, going to force a smile, only realizing that he actually didn’t need to.

  Chapter Twenty Three: The Soarian Event

  “I’m surprised you didn’t make it,” Gisbo said.

  “Uh, do tell me, Gisbo. How is a whip at all helpful in a throwing contest?” Kennis asked.

  “Oh, yeah, right,” Gisbo said.

  “Listen to that crowd! Are you sure you’re ready?” Kennis asked.

  “Even if I wasn’t, I can’t do much about it now,” Gisbo said.

  “Gisbo, I’m sorry. I was so wrong to doubt you. This time, I know you’ll come back to me,” Kennis said as she leaned in and kissed Gisbo. Gisbo turned a deep shade of red and felt his knees wobble. He stepped back and took a deep breath.

  “Ugh, not cool,” Gisbo said.

  “Go get ‘em! I’ll be up in the stands!” Kennis said. Gisbo turned to leave when he felt two arms wrap around him and a head lean against his shoulder.

  “Wait,” Kennis said. Gisbo turned around to see her misty blue eyes water just a tad. “You do know, you do know that this could be the last time I talk to you. You could, you could . . .”

  “I thought you just said . . .” Gisbo started.

  “That doesn’t mean I still won’t worry! I just . . .” Kennis started.

  Gisbo grabbed her shoulders and tilted her chin up, smiling. Too many times had she gotten her hopes up and seen them dashed. Shattered hope was the worst sort of pain, but when she met Gisbo’s eyes and saw that crazed, excited smile, she found herself smiling back and felt at ease.

  “How can you do that? How can you smile like an idiot when death is so close?” Kennis asked.

  “Being an idiot comes naturally, apparently,” Gisbo said.

  “No, really?” Kennis said.

  “I dunno, how do you dance? How do you get good grades in school? How come being kind comes so easily to you? How the hell are you dating me over any other boy?” Gisbo asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kennis said. “It just . . . comes naturally.”

  “So does me being an idiot. Would a person with a fully functional brain do things to purposefully endanger their life?” Gisbo asked. “Don’t think about that too hard, it hurts.”

  “If the situation was right, yes, I’d be in there next to you. If I made it,” Kennis said.

  “Well, um, right, I guess that’s true. I was, damn it, I was trying to say something profound and smart so you wouldn’t worry, but I’m sort of failing miserably here,” Gisbo said. Kennis laughed.

  “You’re ridiculous,” Kennis said.

  �
�Eh, I’ve been called worse,” Gisbo said, meaning to turn around and walk away, but he simply couldn’t. He thought about never seeing this girl again, never feeling so at peace again, what life would be like without her, and he felt his stomach churn. So instead, he leaned in and kissed her, feeling her soft, warm cheek against his callused hand. Before they knew it, they were wrapped up in one another, refusing to let go as this moment together could be their last.

  Behind them, walking into the stadium, by herself, was Nina, watching with warm, uncontrollable tears running down her face.

  Gisbo jogged down a long, spiraling, dark hallway as he searched for room number seven, Team Renegade’s meeting place. He readied himself for a lecture from Perry, only to arrive and run smack into Perry’s back. Gisbo lost his balance and landed on his behind. Perry turned and looked down to see Gisbo.

  “So, our war hero arrives. Welcome, Gisbo,” Perry said, smiling as he held out a hand. Gisbo grasped it and was lifted up back to his feet.

  “You’re not mad? Not even a lecture?” Gisbo asked.

  “Would it help?” Perry asked.

  “Probably not,” Gisbo said.

  “Exactly. As team captain, I have a bit more going on than worrying about your punctuality. Much, much more is at stake here. Now, if you would, stand with your fellow team members while I make sure everyone is here,” Perry said.

  “Right,” Gisbo said.

  “And, Gisbo,” Perry said.

  “Yeah?” Gisbo asked.

  “It’s good to see you here again,” Perry said, smiling. Gisbo smiled back as he stood next to Shaved.

  “What’d I miss?” Gisbo asked.

  “Nothing,” Shaved said.

  “Oh, that’s good. Why’s there a ton of people here?” Gisbo asked.

  “Moral support and protection. This is the last event, after all. Narroway has allowed them to come up with us for extra protection from any Strife assignation techniques, and, why do you smell like a woman?” Foxblade asked.

  “Nice hicky, kid, way to get ‘er done!” Brawlda Tanson, Knob’s father whispered, shooting him a thumbs up and a grin. Gisbo smiled sheepishly and returned the thumbs up.

  “Everyone is accounted for. Any last questions before we head up?” Perry asked. “Now is the time to ask them.”

  “How is this thing supposed to go down?” Brawlda asked.

  “First opponent to step out of the ring, bleed, or die, loses. It’s that simple. No fighter will be allowed to enter the ring more than once. Once you fight, win or lose, you are done for this event,” Perry said. “Any more? Good. Might I add, I couldn’t be prouder to stand beside you. We do not go to our deaths, friends; we go to secure the rest of our lives. When we win this final event, we will secure a three against one contest for the final bout. Are we ready?”

  “Always short and sweet, Perry. That’s why I like you,” Falcon said, grinning.

  “Emphasis on the sweet, I’m sure. Now, Renegades, to arms, cloaks up, and follow me,” Perry said.

  The group of four contestants, along with their bodyguards, walked down the darkened hallway and up a flight of stairs as the cheers grew louder and louder with every rising step. Once they made it to the light of the afternoon sun and the crowd viewed their blue uniforms, booing and cheering grew so loud it hurt Gisbo’s ears. Seeing all the eyes upon him and his team as he walked into the courtyard of the oval arena, he felt a rush of panic and anxiety.

  “Jeesh, Shaved, just, just look at ‘em all. It’s not something you get used to,” Gisbo said over the cheering crowd.

  “Just pretend they’re all in their underwear,” Shaved said.

  “That makes it even worse!” Gisbo said.

  “Stop where you are and line up around the arena staging,” Perry said. “Orderly fashion. Falcon, stand here; Gisbo, next to your dad; Shaved, right next to Gisbo . . . and the rest of you, eyes and ears open, surround them,” Perry said.

  Gisbo stood still, looking up at the repaired arena, trying to keep his anxiety down.

  “How you doing, son?” Falcon asked.

  “Nervous, I guess,” Gisbo said.

  “Me too,” Falcon said.

  “Yeah, right,” Gisbo said. “You’ve done this tournament thing before.”

  “Before it was for fun and I had something to prove, but now . . .” Falcon said.

  “We’ll win,” Gisbo said, grinning.

  “What makes you so sure?” Falcon asked.

  “Confidence gets you further than doubt,” Gisbo said. Falcon laughed.

  “One of Foxblade’s fortune cookies? Thanks, Gisbo, I needed that,” Falcon said.

  “Where are they?” Gisbo asked.

  “The Strifes? Fashionably late, like the women they are,” Falcon said.

  “Don’t let Martha hear you say that,” Gisbo said.

  “She’d agree with me,” Falcon said.

  “She probably would,” Gisbo said, laughing.

  “Gisbo,” Falcon said.

  “Yeah?” Gisbo asked.

  “I love ya, son,” Falcon said. Gisbo smiled.

  “I love you too, Dad,” Gisbo said.

  “Let’s give ‘em hell,” Falcon said, stretching out a hand. Gisbo shook it and looked his dad right in the eye.

  “Damn right,” Gisbo said.

  At that moment, there were several trumpet blasts and the crowd simmered down as female dancers dressed in green, baton twirlers, and a host of blaring confetti and flowers flew out of the Strife gates. Half the arena cheered as the final Strife team ran out.

  “Pansies,” Falcon said.

  “We just walked out . . . what’s their deal?” Gisbo asked.

  “If I knew, I’d tell you,” Falcon said.

  Once the Strifes finished their open ceremony and lined up, their team captain made his way into the center of the arena. Expectedly, he was none other than Chieftain Lamik himself.

  “That’s my cue; wish me luck,” Perry said.

  “What luck? I’ve never seen you win one hand in cards,” Brawlda said. Perry turned around and offered up a rare smile.

  “I’ve been saving it for this,” Perry said. Brawlda smiled and folded his arms.

  “Go get ‘em, melon head,” Brawlda said.

  Perry walked toward the middle and stood a good five inches above Chieftain Lamik’s height. Gisbo couldn’t tell what they said, but they soon stepped back from one another and threw the dice, sending up the fireworks.

  “Three to his two,” Perry said, walking back.

  “Exactly two less balls than the rest of us,” Brawlda said.

  “Enough banter for now, Brawlda, please,” Perry said.

  “Sure thing, boss,” Brawlda said.

  “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?” Gisbo whispered to Falcon. “He’s just like Knob.”

  “Correction. Knob is just like him. Brawlda’s the original womanizing perv, remember that,” Falcon said. “Still, the guy has earned his place here. He can’t help but speak his mind, all the time, because it really is working that fast. I wouldn’t want anyone else watching my back,” Falcon said. Gisbo looked over at Brawlda, who stood with his arms folded, unable to stand still as his foot tapped over and over again and his head moved from side to side in rhythm to an unknown song.

  “Wait a moment, Honj should be opening the Mind-Link with me,” Perry said as he stood at ease, waiting. He closed his eyes, and a second later, his eyes opened with a strategy formed.

  “In such a moment, throwing in a wild card is necessary. Gisbo Falcon, get up there and set the tone for the rest of us.”

  Chapter Twenty Four: Grayn Foxblade

  “Go get ‘em, man,” Shaved said, giving Gisbo a hard handshake.

  “I’ll be back with a win in no time,” Gisbo said. Foxblade stepped before him. Gisbo looked at him with a smile.

  “Any last words for me? Anything you want to get off your chest? I might not come back,” Gisbo said.

  “Try not to die,”
Foxblade said.

  “Gee, such an inspiring guy,” Gisbo said. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to look into his father’s eyes.

  “He’s just not worried about you, and neither am I. Whoever they choose to put against you will no doubt not walk away,” Falcon said. “Give ‘em hell, kid.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Gisbo said.

  “Up here, Gisbo,” Perry said.

  “Coming,” Gisbo said. “Any advice?”

  “Just be yourself, and victory is yours,” Perry said. He placed a firm hand on Gisbo’s shoulder and looked him right in the eye. “Gisbo, of all the young Renegades I’ve trained, you are the only one who has passed by sheer dumb luck.”

  “Emphasis on the dumb, I’m sure,” Gisbo added.

  “But I chose you for this against Narroway and Shax’s wishes. You are what this team needs right now. Return the fire to our hearts in the only way you know how,” Perry said.

  “How do I do that?” Gisbo asked.

  “By being you,” Perry said.

  “Thanks, Perry,” Gisbo said, smiling, never expecting hear such words from Perry.

  “Now get up there and take no prisoners,” Perry said, slapping Gisbo on the rear.

  Gisbo made his way to the middle of the ring, embracing the thundering cheers and boos, and looked out across the Strife lineup. Chieftain Lamik and his advisors kept looking at their lineup, and then at Gisbo, seemingly flustered as to whom to pick. No doubt that was why Perry picked Gisbo, who, thanks to Foxblade, was no longer simply a Berserker, Shininja, or a Nazarite. He had risen above and become something all his own.

  “If the Strife team does not make a decision, they will forfeit this match and a point will be rewarded to the Renegade team. You have thirty seconds,” Narroway said. From Gisbo’s point of view, Chieftain Lamik seemed beside himself as he waved his arms frantically. Finally, after an eenie meenie miney moe point fest, someone was chosen and made his way up to meet Gisbo.

  The man was about Rolce’s size, taller than Gisbo, and was the biggest of the Strife lineup. The man had a shaved head and wielded two Stuggs, Grandfield’s preferred weapons. They seemed modified and were much bigger than Grandfield’s. Each circular mace like ball was the size of a watermelon. The man grasped them by their short handles, rested one on each of his shoulders, and smiled, revealing two missing front teeth. His tongue wriggled between them like a snake. He looked downright scary, and then he spoke.