Renegade Rupture

by J. C. Fiske

  “Hey, Loosher,” the man said. Before Gisbo could double over with laughter at the man’s high-pitched, squeaky voice and his trouble with “s” words, someone beat him to the punch.

  Laughter came from the Renegade line.

  “Toro Banaran! How goes it, fox tail?” Brawlda shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. Toro’s eyes widened with rage and his bald head turned red. Perry ran a hand down his face.

  “Fox tail? What is . . .” Shaved asked.

  “I am not explaining that,” Perry said.

  “I’ll . . . I’ll KILL YOU!” Toro screamed.

  “Yes, yes, I believe that’s why we’re here. How is that pretty little lady of yours? The bowling ball? Small, thick, and only good for rolling and…” Brawlda started.

  “Thut UP!” Toro screamed.

  “Um, what’s a fox tail?” Jackobi asked.

  “Why are you asking me?” Falcon asked.

  “Because you’re laughing, and, um, so is Gisbo.” Jackobi pointed to Gisbo, who was doubled over, much to Toro’s dismay.

  “Well, one night, a while ago, Toro there, um, sort of, got very drunk and tried to light one of his own farts on fire with a Flarian ring. He sort of, um, eradicated his round, dangly regions, leaving a, well, only a fox tail,” Falcon said. “Then he, um, passed out and hit his front teeth on the corner of the table . . .”

  “No . . . way . . .” Shaved said, bursting into laughter as well. “That’s terrible!”

  “Rule one to being a Flarian. Never fart against your own power,” Falcon said. They all squealed with laughter; even Perry had to fight down a smile.

  “Fighters! Take your places!” Narroway’s voice boomed.

  “Oh, oh man, I’m sorry. I can’t believe it! You’re Toro Banaran! My dad, he told me all about you! I just never thought I’d meet the legend in person! Go ahead, commence with the, ugh, trash talking,” Gisbo said.

  “You little thit! I’ll kill you!” Toro said. Gisbo burst into more giggles.

  “GISBO! FOCUS!” Perry’s firm voice snapped Gisbo to attention.

  “Sorry about that, it’s just, damn, you’re hilarious!” Gisbo said. “Besides the story, you look like an oversized baby! Rattles and all! This, you’re too much!”

  “BABY!?” Toro screamed. “I’LL . . .”

  “TORO! THAT’S ENOUGH!” Chieftain Lamik yelled. The man grimaced behind him and growled, but to Gisbo, it sounded more like a whistle. Toro turned his attention back to Gisbo, sticking his large Stugg right in his face.

  “I’ll knock that thmirk right off your thtupid neck!” Toro said, causing Gisbo to erupt into more laughter.

  “Oh, please, just stop talking. I can’t take it. If this is your strategy to keep me unfocused, congrats, sir, it’s working,” Gisbo said as he turned around and made his way over to his line.

  “I’m not, I’M NOT THTRATEGITHING!” Toro shouted, spraying saliva everywhere, looking very much like a cranky baby. It took all of Gisbo’s will to not turn around. He knew the man was powerful, he could feel it, and as he learned from countless matches with Falcon, Rolce, Moordin, and Shax, one false move in a quickdraw meant death. This man was part of the Strifes chosen four for a reason.

  “Focus, Gisbo,” Perry muttered as he watched with his arms folded, uncomfortable with the huge, idiotic smile branded across Gisbo’s face. Perry looked back at Falcon and noticed the same smirk. He looked back and forth between the two and was set at ease.

  “Be yourself . . .”

  “BEGIN!” Narroway’s booming voice went across over the crowd. Unlike the last time, the crowd didn’t have the chance to get caught in the silence of the moment. Quick as could be, Gisbo ignited his essence with a roar and launched both of his Tantos in dual, red throws. Toro did the same with his Stuggs, launching them in two wicked arcs from over his shoulders with a furious green essence. Their timing was nearly identical as the weapons soared at one another, rather than their controllers. Toro smiled as he watched Gisbo’s Tantos deflect right off the hard, domed surface of the Stuggs. He expected that. What he didn’t expect was the wielder of those Tantos, to follow his throws, and disengage his essence. After a quick vault over the two flying Stuggs, Gisbo was now soaring toward him.

  “NOBODYTH THAT FATH!” Toro cried out as Gisbo arched his vault into a flying kick that, within seconds, would hit him square in the face. Toro rolled to one side, arching his face away just enough for the edge of Gisbo’s right boot to clip his earlobe. Both fighters went down, now off balance, and hit the ring hard as they stumbled, trying to stop their momentum without falling out of the ring and disqualifying themselves.

  Gisbo dug his heels in as his rear slid across the smooth, dusty, granite surface and he barely stopped himself right on the edge. Toro rolled and rolled, bashing up his elbows as he hammered them downward, managing to stop himself by digging them into the ring. After stopping, he checked his elbows.

  No blood.

  Toro breathed a sigh of relief as both fighters looked at one another, matching gazes. They re-ignited their essence to get their weapons returned to their hands. Gisbo opted for just one of his Tantos and Toro grabbed for both in a wild dive. They were helpless now, watching and waiting as their weapons traveled along their rope-like essence trails to their open hands.

  Being closer to the middle of the ring, Toro’s Stuggs returned to him first and, with a crazed sneer, Toro launched both of his Stuggs at Gisbo before Gisbo’s single Tanto returned to him. Time seemed to slow before both combatants’ eyes and it became clear.

  Toro’s Stuggs would reach Gisbo first, no doubt killing him, before Gisbo’s single Tanto could return to mount any defense.

  Which is exactly what Gisbo wanted.

  Two things happened at the same time. In one flash, Gisbo expelled all of his essence in a massive explosion, shattering the ring and deflecting the two Stuggs. They flew in a wild downspin straight into the ground outside of the ring, exploding soil and turf at many unfortunate crowd members, and Toro fell over dead with Gisbo’s Knuck-Knife coming out straight through the back of his head, the point sticking out through the gap in his teeth.

  Gisbo lay, weak and exhausted in the rubble, doing his best to clamber back up to solid ground. In a final push of strength, he hoisted himself up and lay sprawled out across the ring, victorious, chest heaving, and unable to move.

  Too late, he discovered his headband and half of his clothes were lost in the blast. He now lay half naked with his dripping forehead revealed to the entire Strife lineup and a good quarter of the crowd. Gisbo tried to rise to his feet, cover his forehead, anything, but he had expelled everything to block Toro’s weapons and throw his own, secret one. All he could do was lie there, helpless, as Chieftain Lamik stared with fire in his eyes, not at him, but at the man who now lifted Gisbo up and carried him in his arms.

  “The sins of the father . . . this, YOU are what we are here for. This evil will not stand! Damn you, damn you to hell. I’ll . . .” Lamik started, but Falcon had already turned his back on him with a swirl of his cape and bandana tails. Falcon pushed Lamik’s words to the back of his mind as he walked, his son in his arms.

  “Dad, I . . .” Gisbo started.

  “You did incredibly, son, that’s all that needs to be said,” Falcon said.

  “But, they, they know . . . I,” Gisbo started.

  “Let them talk, let them make excuses for something they can’t understand. Be who you are and let them deal with the weight of your power,” Falcon said. “You are my son, and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

  “Thanks . . . Dad,” Gisbo said.

  Falcon carried him back to the group, now very quiet and staring at Gisbo’s dripping forehead. A moment later, Kalloway was on the scene.

  “This, this is what we are fighting for, acceptance and equality for all. Just as we sided with Falcon many years ago, we now side with his son, and should any of you disagree, go join with the Strifes!” Kalloway said. “Whatever you
say now, say it carefully, because anyone who speaks ill will towards Gisbo, speaks ill will toward me!”

  “Always with the assuming, Kalloway. What? You think we’re all shocked that Gisbo has the Drakeness flowing through him? You’re downright wrong. Did you not just see that epic fight? Did you not just see Gisbo here trounce their strongest, if not dumbest, card in under two minutes tops?” Brawlda said aloud.

  “I . . .” Kalloway started.

  “Women . . .” Brawlda said.

  “I, I don’t know what to say. I . . .” Kalloway said.

  “That’s a first, but let me help you. How about, ‘I’m sorry for putting words in your mouth and thoughts in your mind’?” Brawlda said.

  “Brawlda, everyone, I’m, I’m sorry, I . . .” Kalloway said.

  “How did this happen?” Perry asked.

  “During the fight for Sandlake. He ran out of essence. To save my life, he injected himself with the vial of Drakeness,” Falcon said.

  “The vial the slaves mined?” Perry asked.

  “The very same,” Falcon said as he laid Gisbo down across the lawn.

  “It just never stops for this boy. Falcon, you understand what this means, now that the Strife know. Gisbo is going to become a propaganda tool, just as you were. He, he doesn’t deserve this. A lot can happen within a week. And then, once the blood pact is resolved . . .” Perry said.

  “Yes, I do,” Gisbo said as he rose up to a shaky, seated position. “I do deserve this. I knew what I was doing. If I had to make that decision again, right here, right now, to save someone I love, to save everyone here, I’d do it all over again! Cripes, nothing is worse than pity. I won’t have any of it! Now, shut up, all of you, I need . . . to sleep,” Gisbo said. With that, he fell backward and passed out.

  “Seems he’s going to miss my match,” Foxblade said, looking down at a slumbering Gisbo.

  “I don’t believe we requested you,” Perry said, making his way into the ring. The dice were rolled, and Lamik won. This time, he immediately chose a fighter, who walked into the ring. Perry, upon recognizging the fighter, walked back to the group with a grave face, staring at Foxblade.

  “There’s no one else,” Foxblade said.

  “Take him,” Perry ordered.

  Brawlda walked up beside Perry and watched Foxblade calmly strut toward the middle of the arena to meet his opponent.

  “You’d think he takes it personally,” Brawlda said.

  “Wouldn’t you?” Perry asked.

  “Hell, I have a hard enough time with my son. His mom’s the one that dabbles in the Nazarite department anyhow. But if I did take on a student, and I wouldn’t, but if I did, and that student became a crazed little snot and tried to kill my best friend and join the Strifes, well . . .” Brawlda said.

  “Well, what?” Perry asked.

  “I dunno if I’d have the cahoneys to face him again, let alone . . .” Brawlda said, pausing, not even wanting to say the phrase, but it stumbled out anyway. “Kill him.”

  “Me either,” Perry said. He saw Jackobi rush out into the arena, no doubt recognizing the figure standing in the ring. Falcon walked over to stand beside Jackobi, who stood with his eyes fixed on the two men standing in the arena.

  “Why not just let someone else handle this?” Jackobi asked. “He doesn’t need to do this.”

  “Because, above all else, and I do mean above all else, your father is an honorable man,” Falcon said. “He finishes what he starts. He takes personal responsibility seriously. You’ll understand one day when you take on a student. As a teacher, as a Class Master, you pour out all that you are for the sake of your legacy, your honor, and Thera. When your father killed the Fox of Blades, he made a point to not allow skills and information, such as his own, to fall into the wrong hands. Grayn Foxblade has caused many deaths. Almost my own,” Falcon said. Jackobi looked up, shocked.

  “You mean . . .” Jackobi started.

  “He never told you. I grow out my hair for a reason. I rather hate it, but the way your father stared at the back of my neck, at the mark that was just an inch away from killing me, was worse,” Falcon said, lifting up the back of his hair to reveal a long, deep, white scar.

  “Grayn was chosen to try to assassinate me during the last tournament. He was a double agent if you will, and your father taught him the technique that almost killed me,” Falcon said. “Foxblade developed the technique with his then friend and Grayn’s father, Rasa Tabula, or Tabs for short. They trained together and they both promised that should something happen to either of them, they would train the other’s son. On a mission that could have easily gone both ways, Tabs sacrificed his life to save your father, only because he beat him to the punch. If things went differently, you would have been named Jackobi Tabula,” Falcon said.

  Jackobi stood silently.

  “In many ways, that is your older brother,” Falcon said.

  “I can’t watch this,” Jackobi said.

  “But you will,” Falcon said.

  “Why didn’t he ever tell me this?” Jackobi asked. “I thought we were past secrets.”

  “As one with many regrets, I can understand,” Falcon said.

  “What happened to Grayn? What made him . . . turn?” Jackobi asked.

  “Foxblade and I have talked about that many times. Grayn was special. Things came easily to him, a prodigy, much like you. More importantly, he was obedient. In his eyes, the Renegades were good and the Strifes were evil. It was that simple. Our war, although short, was . . . gruesome. Brothers against brothers. It wasn’t just me; I was just one issue. It was the nature of our ideologies. With the changing times came more acceptance, change. Some could stand it, embrace it, and others simply couldn’t. We went from a world of black and white to a world of grey and nobody learned that lesson more than Grayn. All it took was one night alone . . . to forever change him,” Falcon said.

  “What happened?” Jackobi asked.

  “Quite possibly the greatest self-contained Renegade tragedy, and Grayn . . . Grayn was at the heart of it all. It was supposed to be just a normal intel gathering mission. Grayn and his synergy had just become full-fledged Renegades at the peak of the Strife-Renegade War. They were thrown into so much, so soon, not unlike Gisbo and his friends last year. The Strifes were rumored to be building a massive prison deep underground of their fortress, a horrible, hell of a place,” Falcon said.

  “Glaknabrade,” Jackobi said.

  “Exactly. Grayn and his friends were supposed to confirm the creation of the place before we sent in men to free any captured Renegades, but what they saw there changed them,” Falcon said.

  “What? What did they see?” Jackobi asked.

  “For the first time, grey invaded their black and white world. Loads and loads of grey. Everything the quiet, skilled, righteous boy believed in was twisted. Perhaps if Grayn wasn’t so intelligent, perhaps if he had more the mindset of, say, Gisbo, he could’ve not thought about it too much. But Grayn couldn’t let it go; he was unable to. It was a shock to his system,” Falcon said.

  “What did he see?” Jackobi asked.

  “A group of younger Renegades, while the Strifes were away, took over the incomplete prison, and there, within the darkness, was nothing but madness. They say that they used the cavern where the Dragon once slumbered, and its horrible, maddening essence infiltrated the very soil, elemental as it was. That’s the rumor anyhow. What those boys saw was Renegades . . . torturing Strifes with sadism, sexual perversions, and things too decrepit to repeat with spoken word,” Falcon said. “I’m not surprised Foxblade never told you. He was protecting you.”

  “You all say that, especially my father, but in the end, even he is a hypocrite. Be honest with yourselves; you do it to protect yourselves. And in my father’s case, to save him from ever showing a damned emotion,” Jackobi said.

  “If that’s what you think, you’re wrong,” Falcon said. “I came on the scene in the Glaknabrade aftermath when it was stale, rather
than fresh. Grayn went mad. He killed everyone involved and was never the same. I’ve seen a lot in my lifetime, kid, but the remains of that . . . I saw the blood, loosed feces, scattered limbs, and other things beyond my imagination. I must carry those visions with me. Sometimes, even to this day, I have recurring nightmares of what I saw. If I could be in your place, free of such images, I would trade places with you in a second,” Falcon said.

  “I’m, I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn,” Jackobi said.

  “No, you didn’t. You were only honest,” Falcon said.

  “So, what happened to Grayn after . . .” Jackobi asked.

  “He did what many lost souls do. Looking for answers, looking for reasons, looking for peace, he embraced religion, rather than faith. Order over reason, tradition over logic, he became a machine for a twisted sense of justice devoid of free will and replaced with force . . . He joined the Strifes to once again be able to see black and white, but in his case, now it’s only black. And now, here they are again, Master and student, and frankly, I saw Foxblade fight Grayn,” Falcon said, worry to his voice.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Jackobi asked.

  “Grayn only went down because your father and I spent years as a team. You know me. I have a hard time admitting someone is better than myself, but it took both of us to put him down, and that was years ago. IAM be with him,” Falcon said.

  For the first time in his life, Jackobi embraced the impossible. Jackobi stared out at his father’s back, and for the first time, a foreign feeling entered him.

  Worry.

  Chapter Twenty Five: The Fox of Blades

  Foxblade looked across the arena, forcing his emotions down, trying to wade through countless repressed images to grasp onto his killer instinct, to embrace the nothing that he instructed Gisbo to grasp onto . . . but it wasn’t enough.

  With his long, silky, snow white hair, tanned skin, and small, squinted, diamond-like eyes, Grayn was now a near spitting image of his father. But worst of all was the way the boy carried himself, the way he stood, the way he moved . . . It was like looking at Foxblade’s own reflection, a dark reflection at least half his age that was faster, stronger, and ready for an event to the death.