by J. C. Fiske
“Vice Dastard, who is he?” Gisbo asked. Falcon looked over at Moordin as if to say, “Told you so.”
“Gisbo,” Moordin started.
“And don’t give me this, ‘We can’t tell you’ garbage again! Does he have something to do what’s blocked up here?” Gisbo asked, pointing to his head.
Falcon and Moordin said nothing.
“He does, doesn’t he!” Gisbo said.
They know, the voice whispered.
“Gisbo,” Falcon started.
“No! Shut up! You’re going to tell me, right now, or I’m going off to find this asshole by myself,” Gisbo said. Moordin and Falcon looked at one another and let the silence linger.
“Fine, screw you both. I’m done, I’m done with all of this,” Gisbo said as he stormed away from the table, leaving Kennis to follow.
Falcon sighed.
“We’ll deal with this later. I think it’s about time we let our friend in on our fishing spot. Don’t you?” Moordin said. Falcon smiled.
“Let’s go together. You get Jackobi and I’ll get Gisbo and Rolce. They deserve to pass our friend into the next world.”
Together, the men rose from their table, dressed with their hoods up in mourning, as they went to gather their family. Unbeknownst to them, the Goat Man stood in the alleyway, watching them leave, but more importantly, watching Gisbo and Kennis, walking side by side.
Nobody saw him arrive, and nobody saw him leave.
Chapter Twenty Seven: Vice Dastard
Vice Dastard sat alone in his quarters upon the cleansing room bench, letting the water run down his long, dirt and dung caked hair, soiled from one of the deepest, darkest chambers within Glaknabrade prison. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a shower, or felt so relaxed, as the hot water fell all about his nude, scarred, deadly body. Daily fights over food shipments lowered into Glaknabrade had kept him strong. Daily kills had kept his skills razor sharp, perhaps even improved them.
Once cleaned, he stood and wafted through the steam and fog, wiping the mirror clear to look at a face he did not recognize. Every little thing, even a simple reflection, was lost, changed, once you entered Glaknabrade.
A few swipes with a razor and a few snips with scissors, and he began to see the man in the mirror resemble what he once was, except for the eyes. The eyes, the gateway to the soul, were not the same as they were fourteen years ago, but Vice pondered no further as he felt another’s presence in the steam. He couldn’t see the intruder, but he could feel him. Over the years, he learned vision could betray him, but his instincts never did. Someone was there.
“It is time. You must go to the boy, tonight,” a voice within the steam spoke, a voice Vice hadn’t heard in over a century.
“Seems knocking is now a thing of the past. My have manners changed in the time I’ve been gone,” Vice jibed as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it about his mid-section. As if formed from the steam itself, the Goat Man appeared in his blood stained cloak, droplets of moisture dripping down the crusted goat skull atop his head.
“I see you’re still wearing that outlandish get up,” Vice said. The Goat Man ignored his comment.
“Tonight is the night. Nothing must get in your way,” the Goat Man said, matter-of-factly.
“Nothing ever does,” Vice said. “Do you have my supplies?”
“Everything is in the living room,” The Goat Man said.
“Before your vanishing act, I’d like to know one thing,” Vice said, folding his arms across his chest.
“Make it quick,” the Goat Man said.
“My association is obvious, but call me curious. What’s in this for you?” Vice asked.
“Chaos,” the Goat Man said, and with one step backward into the steam, Vice felt his presence no more.
“Crazy bastard . . .” Vice murmured to himself. He looked down at the pile of hair scattered about the floor and let it be. He would never be back.
He thrust open the cleansing room door and stepped into the fresh air of his cozy cottage. He spied his Strife uniform, the only set of clothes he was allowed, draped over the edge of the couch, freshly pressed. He held it up, shook his head in disgust, and tossed it aside to reveal what was underneath. The Goat Man was true to his word. Everything was accounted for . . .
Within moments, the man was dressed in a skin-tight black suit that strangely added bulk to him, but didn’t detract from his speed. He was ready. With quiet composure, he stood at ease and closed his eyes, stretching out with his strongest muscle and most deadly weapon.
His mind.
Twelve. Twelve Strife guards surrounded the cottage.
Five minutes later, all their hearts ceased to beat.
Gisbo and Kennis sat alone, wrapped in one another’s arms on the recliner on the front porch of Gisbo’s tree house, silent as they stared up at the moon. They felt drained beyond belief, but safe and secure in each other’s arms.
“Are you ok?” Kennis asked.
“About as ok as I’m going to be,” Gisbo said.
“Shaved’s funeral was beautiful,” Kennis said.
Gisbo said nothing.
“I know you guys were close. You should talk about it,” Kennis said.
“I can’t,” Gisbo said.
“Why?” Kennis asked.
Gisbo was silent.
“Gisbo, I’m here for you, you can talk to me about anything. It’s not good to be so pent up,” Kennis said. “Come on, try. It’s the only way to get over it; it’s the only way to . . .”
“What if I don’t want to get over it? What if I want to hold on to the image of that thing, man, whatever you want to call him, killing Shaved? What if I want to hold on to it, use it, and destroy him for what he did?” Gisbo asked.
Kennis said nothing, only planted her face in his chest and sighed, listening to Gisbo’s heart hammering in his chest.
“You need to get past this; you need closure,” Kennis said.
“I’ll have closure when that man dies,” Gisbo said, rising from his seat.
“Gisbo . . .” Kennis said as she got up, walked behind him, and wrapped her arms around him. Gisbo walked forward and broke free.
“Gisbo?” Kennis asked.
“Not now, Kenni, please. We’ve been up here for a while. I just, I need to be alone right now,” Gisbo said.
“Oh,” Kennis said. “Are you going to come to my place tonight?”
“I don’t know,” Gisbo said.
“You don’t know? But Niffin is staying with her mom and well, Kinny is . . . it’s so lonely in there and,” Kennis started.
“Kennis! Please, just,” Gisbo started.
“Are you going to push me away just like you did Nina?” Kennis asked. “Because if you are, then let’s just cut to the chase before both our feelings get hurt.”
Gisbo stood and said nothing.
“Really? You’re just going to let me walk away? Gisbo, I know you’re going through a lot, I shouldn’t have said that, but . . .” Kennis started.
“YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M GOING THROUGH!” Gisbo shouted, spinning around, startling Kennis.
“I’m, I’m sorry, Kennis, I just . . . DAMN IT!” Gisbo yelled as he collapsed onto the chair with his face in his hands. Kennis moved in, sat beside him, and massaged his back.
“What is the reason for this? What is the reason for Foxblade and Shaved dying? And what Knob did to Niffin, and Shaved . . . Grandfield, I can’t even imagine his pain. This tournament took from him his father, his best friend, and his synergy . . . it’s all gone. WHY? What’s the reason for this? There’s none! There was no reason for them to die, none, and IAM just took them away, just like that. Is that what he does? Is he just some sick bastard who gives you a little bit of pleasure only to take it all away? And then, if you don’t turn to him, he what? Causes more pain just so he’s a last resort? So you come running back? Is that all life is? It’s bullshit! It’s all bullshit!” Gisbo said.
“Gisbo . . .” Kennis sai
d.
“And my head, my freaking head! It just doesn’t stop! The voices, the racing thoughts, the horrible images, like, like clockwork! The only time I get peace is when I’m with you! The only time I can feel, be myself is when I’m around you, Kennis. Now all I can think about is how weak I would be without you, how I can’t make it on my own steam, that I need you, and what would I do without you? What would I become? In such a short amount of time we . . . It scares me, what we have, and how fast it has moved. I’ve never, ever felt this way about someone. I, I, cripes, I,” Gisbo started.
“Shush,” Kennis said, placed a hand on Gisbo’s face, pulled him in close, and kissed him. She pulled away, her blue eyes wet with moisture.
“I’m not going anywhere, Gisbo. Listen to me, I’m not going anywhere. Come here,” Kennis said as she wrapped Gisbo in her arms. They laid across the chair with Gisbo resting his head on Kennis’s chest. Slowly, feeling peace creep over his anger, rage, and frustration, he breathed a sigh of relief and felt tears come.
“You don’t need to be strong alone, Gisbo. I can hold you too. I can hold you up,” Kennis said, stroking his hair. Together they lay there, wrapped in one another’s arms again. Gisbo rose up and looked her in the eyes.
“I’m ready,” Gisbo said.
“Ready for what?” Kennis asked.
“After this Strife war, if we surivive. I’m done with being a Renegade. I’m done with fighting. I’m done with keeping my pride at bay. I want, I want to be with you, I want, I want new dreams, a family, maybe a house on the water, breed lots of Fao puppies! Live happily ever after! I, but, only if you want too of course. Sorry, I don’t know where all that just came from. My head has a filter problem sometimes, things just, come out of there . . .”
They looked in each other’s eyes for a long moment. Then, suddenly, Gisbo felt Kennis take his hand and he felt warm metal slide over his finger. Gisbo looked down to see Kennis’s ring on his finger. Gisbo’s eyes went wide and he looked at her. She was smiling.
“Kennis . . .” Gisbo stammered. “I, I know what this means to you, I, I don’t deserve this, I don’t . . .”
“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a man, Gisbo Falcon.” Kennis said. “Life, it could end in an instant with this war coming. It’s so precious. Every second counts, and if this next moment is our last, then you need to know something. You need to know that I’ll always love you, and as long as you’re beside me, wherever we go, I’ll have my happy ending,”
Then, without another word, in the stillness of the moonlight, the two made love for the first time. The sounds of nature accompanied each carasses, each motion, each thrust, each cry, and . . .
“Uh, oh jeesh . . . sorry,” Gisbo said, face bright red with embarrassment.
“That was, um, fast . . .” Kennis said.
“Oh, cripes, I . . .” Gisbo started.
“Shush, no apologizing. Guess what? We have the rest of our lives,” Kennis said and they began again, this time climaxing together and with all their frustrations, all their pain spent, they fell once again into each other’s arms in a beautiful surrender.
Three hours later, Gisbo awoke to Rolce’s snoring in the room behind him and a massive urge to urinate. He gently moved Kennis off of him, stood up over her, and gazed at her features in the moonlight. Never had he seen anyone with such beauty. For that split second, Gisbo believed in a higher power, believed that this woman was made especially for him.
He had cared deeply for Nina, but for reasons unbeknownst to him, since his encounter with the Drakeness, he couldn’t love her. He heard of love so powerful it sent nations to war, caused murder, turned best friends into the worst of enemies, and now he understood every bit of it. He knew right then and there if the situation called for it, he would give his life for this golden haired girl and would protect her at all costs.
Gisbo then turned around, only to see Vice Dastard, his finger raised, but by then, it was already too late.
Blackness enveloped him.
When Gisbo awoke, he felt the side of his neck throbbing considerably, but nothing he wouldn’t get over. When he had gathered his senses and stood, he realized it was still dark.
“You’re ahead of schedule,” Vice said from behind him. “You look as if you recognize me from somewhere . . .”
“I’LL KILL YOU!” Gisbo screamed, spinning round to face him.
“Of course you will, hence why I grabbed your Tantos from your room. Go ahead, pick them up,” Vice said as he stood up and put his arms out in a vulnerable stance. “Come on, kid, show me what you got.”
Gisbo spied his Tantos before him, stabbed in the dirt. He dove for them, grabbed them, and rolled into a crouched position. Gisbo ignited his weapons in a roaring fire, teeth gritted, fists clenched, ready to throw all he had at the man in black.
“Nice look. I think it’s the eyes that really do it for me. They look so much like your mother’s,” Vice said. Gisbo froze.
“What? What did you just say?” Gisbo snapped.
“I said, that look, I like it. It’s the same one you gave me when I tickled the inside of your friend’s skull. How is he by the way? I’d love to meet up with that guy again sometime, you know, pick his brain,” Vice said, with a smirk.
Any self-control Gisbo had left, which wasn’t much, was lost. With a piercing, maddening yell that rang throughout Heaven’s Shelter, woke several preschoolers, and gave them nightmares, Gisbo threw everything he had at the man who had murdered Shaved Davinson.
Gisbo dove forward, his Tanto emblazoned with Flarian energy, as he went for the man’s forehead, and then, the impossible happened. Gisbo found his body frozen in mid-air, power still surging, but trapped. Gisbo struggled, or at least thought about struggling, but he couldn’t budge, couldn’t even blink.
“It’s always embarrassing to do that to one as powerful as you, and you are powerful, Gisbo, but do tell me . . . what is power when you can’t use it?” Vice asked. He grabbed Gisbo’s wrist and answered his own question.
“Useless.”
Suddenly, Gisbo felt lightheaded and watched as his essence leaked out of his pores like a steaming, squealing teapot. Within moments, every bit of Gisbo’s Flarian essence was drained, rising within the air, and dissipating.
Vice let go, and Gisbo fell smack onto his face, feeling as if he had just run a marathon, barely able to move.
“Let me ask you something, Gisbo. How does a group of people become known as the greatest and most powerful? Easy. Their strength outperforms most any situation. Most. Me? I am no Renegade. I am no Strife. I was born with my hands and my mind, and that is all I require. I grew up fighting with my fists, much like you. I do not hide behind a name, I do not hide behind a title, I do not hide behind ideals. I am simply me. I gave you a chance to kill me, and all your Renegade training has summed up to nothing, nada, zip. But I don’t blame you. Much like you, Gisbo, I am special. I know what you are . . .” Vice said, leaning in and whispering in Gisbo’s ear, “ . . . Man-Phoenix.”
“How, how could you possibly know that? What the hell do you want from me?” Gisbo asked through gritted teeth.
“I want what you want, and what you want is to kill me. But you can’t do that, can you?” Vice asked.
Gisbo growled.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, I’m going to give you what you want, but with anything given, something is lost. Such is the nature of life. Whenever something is given, something is taken away from someone else. Now, here’s the deal. You either come with me, right now, and leave this political tournament behind you or, I go back the way we came and I kill everyone and everything you hold dear, saving that buxom blonde of yours for last,” Vice said. Gisbo’s eyes went wide with madness as he breathed harder and harder.
“I love that look! You’re angry. That’s good. That’s real good. You need to embrace what you feel, be yourself, and deep inside, we can’t help it. We are all monsters. Some just hide it better than others,” Vice s
aid.
“Shut up,” Gisbo said.
“Gisbo, listen to me. You have a mission to achieve in this life, and it cannot be done while you stay with the Renegades. What you need to do cannot be done with the morals and values they’ve taught you. The Renegades have grown weak and comfortable. They are nothing like they used to be. The Renegades only kill when they have to, not when they NEED to. You have no idea what is about to come your way. I do. I have all the answers you seek, about your mother, about your pain, about what happened to you, why you’re different, and why the Renegades hold it all back from you, why, like a tool, they continue to manipulate and use you.” Vice Dastard said, folding his arms. “Now, you already know what will happen should you choose wrong. I’ve given you options; what is your decision?”
“Eat a dick,” Gisbo said. At that moment, Fao dove from the bushes and came within inches of Vice’s throat, only to freeze in mid-air, jaws chomping. Vice laughed.
“And just like that, your trump card is no more,” Vice said.
“Not quite,” Gisbo yelled as he pulled Fao’s essence from her. He rolled and pounced upon Vice, stabbing both of his daggers into his pectorals. Vice lost concentration and Fao fell to the ground weakly with a whimper. Gisbo kicked out with his front foot straight into Vice’s stomach, freeing his blades and knocking the man onto his back. Breathing hard, Gisbo ran to Fao and lifted her up in his arms, fearing for her life. He felt her warm tongue lap his face, signaling she was fine.
“You had me worried, girl. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Gisbo said. “And as for you . . .” Gisbo turned to have it out when he realized the man who had fallen just ten seconds ago was gone. He spun all around and backed into something hard and solid. He spun about to see Vice Dastard standing before him, a familiar thick black ooze pouring out of both of his wounds.
“The Drakeness?” Gisbo sputtered. Within moments, the would-be mortal blow, just inches from his heart, left only tiny white scars behind.
“You’re more resourceful than I thought, kid. Well done,” Vice said. “Now to pour some hard truths on you.”