Renegade Rupture

by J. C. Fiske

  “The corruption of the innocent heart opens all doors . . .” Purah muttered, closing his eyes and thrusting out his Dark Sybil power. The black and red puddle began to swirl, stretching all around him, forming a giant Drakeness symbol upon the ground.

  “ . . . beyond time, beyond space, beyond the elements. All this power lies within you, and yet, you are at the mercy of your own inexperience, no one to show you how to use it. You can only use it by IAM’s decree. You are but a tool of the Gods; they laugh at us, but no longer. Now, Gisbo, you are a tool of man to bring forth a true Deity, one who will do what even the Gods could not. He will give to their creation everlasting life free of pain, free of hardships. Don’t you see? We humans, we’ve outgrown our creator. We need a new God. This is what we need; this is the only way to bring about harmony and perfect peace. Only through Drakearon and his power can we . . .” Purah started.

  “You mean through slavery! Without free will, we’ll be nothing but slaves to an egomaniac trying to make up for an asskicking that my Grandfather gave him!” Gisbo said, gritting his teeth.

  “You’ve impressed me, Gisbo. To be able to speak in such a state. You are much stronger than I could have prepared for, which means, I’m afraid, your friends will suffer all the more,” Purah said.

  “What?” Gisbo asked.

  The puddle of Gisbo’s blood and Drakeness frayed out into the symbol of Drakearon, three sixes sharing the same circle. The symbol began to glow, and out of it shot a small, apple shaped orb of energy that melded into reality itself. Through it, the Reath could be seen . . .

  “He’s coming back, Gisbo. To save this world from itself. Your power has allowed this. The stabilizing power was absorbed by the arena over these past few weeks. Every battle, every match filled this circle with power, and now, with your blessed blood, it’s ready. The portal has ground. What comes next will be from you. It needs a reaction in order to grow: different elemental energies colliding in one space. Where will the essence come from?” Purah asked, smiling, then pointed to the Renegades battering the outside of the barrier. “From the most powerful warriors on Thera. They will provide the fuel that the barrier needs to grow. You, Gisbo, you will kill them for me, and the portal will be fully realized. Now, relax, it will all be over soon,” Purah said as he reached out with his Mind-Link. Gisbo screamed, pushing and pushing, embracing the rage, embracing his innermost depths of raw fury, and broke through. Even with that mental fortitude, his body was still unable to move.

  “You should not have been able to do that. I . . .” Purah started. A voice came from beyond, a voice that caused every striking Renegade from outside the barrier, to freeze.

  “Purah, my most faithful friend and follower, calm yourself,” the voice said. “If we cannot have the boy’s mind, we will have his body. My weapon, my perfect weapon, I unleash you from your sheath, I unchain your tethers. Go, give in to your violence, your pain, and let others deal with the weight of it . . . ”

  “Go . . . to . . . hell . . . you sick, GAH!!!” Gisbo screamed. A gloved hand shot out from the apple shaped orb and began twisting and boiling the Drakeness in Gisbo’s body.

  Gisbo’s body, his very skeletal structure, twisted, grew, and changed into something close to his raw, wolf-like form. This time, he was more monster than beast, bigger than before, dripping black. The feral energy of the Phoenix combined with the power of the Drakeness. Some Renegades were sensitive to changes in power fluctuations and they passed out, their minds unable to process the maddening, awful power that now flowed through Gisbo.

  At that moment, the barrier dropped, and Gisbo, now controlled by Drakearon like a dog on a leash, charged against his brothers, his sisters, his family and all the while the portal grew, absorbing the essence of every slain Renegade.

  Chapter Thirty Five: Duel in Darkness

  Jackobi Foxblade ignited his essence and flew at his opponent, a fire raging in his belly. Grayn stood his ground and braced for an attack that didn’t come. Jackobi instead rolled right past him and came up with a dagger.

  Grayn, his instincts moving him, rolled in the opposite direction, barely avoiding the strike. Grayn got enough distance between him and his opponent to turn around and blast a paper thin, Soarian energy projectile at Jackobi known as a Razor Beam, capable of passing through tissue, muscle, and bone with only a pound of pressure.

  The Razor Beam fired at almost the same time Jackobi’s dagger strike reached its height limit. Grayn knew the strike would pass through the Shininja’s heart like butter. Not even Foxblade could have dodged it. No Shininja could, and in what was left of his heart, Grayn was disappointed. He wanted this fight prolonged, wanted to feel alive again as he had against his own master, wanted to feel purpose flood through him. However, his disappointment vanished as he witnessed something he had never seen.

  At the height of the Renegade’s attack, he was also defending. Thick blackness sprouted from the tips of Jackobi’s energy and splashed around him, consuming the Razor Beam and preventing it from piercing his body.

  Drakeness, being used with a fully functional mind. How it was possible Grayn had no idea, but the mystery excited him to no end as Jackobi charged for him again.

  This time, Grayn met Jackobi, rolling forward with him. They came up with their daggers, clanging, sending a horrible sound vibrating through the tree branches as they stabbed and swung, deflected and moved in perfect unison. They picked up speed as they rose from their knees to their feet, swaying and leaning, lashing out, in a dance of death.

  It didn’t take long for Grayn to realize that this one was faster and stronger than Foxblade. Every strike had passion and fervor behind it. He was hot and fluid, rather than cold and precise. He only resembled his father in Renegade title and looks alone. His fighting style was all his own, and this excited Grayn all the more.

  With their next strike, their daggers caught in each other’s hilts. They locked eyes and pushed, testing each other’s strength.

  No words were spoken. Nothing needed to be said. And then, Jackobi’s true attack, hit.

  Grayn felt pincers stab into both of his ankles. With Jackobi locked up, he chanced a look down and couldn’t believe his eyes. The splattered black that Jackobi sprayed every which way not only defended him as he attacked, but added to it. The splattered Drakeness had come together to form two small Drakelings, one of which stared up at him with a mad little giggle and giant smile. It looked like a tiny, black, dripping monkey, and the other like a small weasel. The two of them dug their claws into his ankles and held him in place, giggling and cackling madly.

  Jackobi pushed with all of his weight to the right and downward, throwing Grayn off balance and giving him enough leverage to rip both daggers free. They left Grayn’s hands, fell, and bounced around in the dark, skidding across the ground into the bushes.

  As Grayn fell, Jackobi went with him, sliding underneath him. Using gravity to his advantage, he flipped his own daggers around in his hands and pushed them up, knowing that in half a second, Grayn would fall upon them and the battle would be over.

  But nothing of the sort happened.

  With a burst of yellow smoke and sparkles, Grayn vanished from his grasp. The next moment, Jackobi saw and felt daggers erupt through his back and stick out through each of his pectorals.

  Grayn did it. He finally activated the Lightning Form for less than second, and with that time, he had retrieved his lost daggers and had time to shove them into Jackobi’s back.

  The Strife now stood behind him, holding Jackobi up, and twisted the daggers in place as if turning two doorknobs, but not once did Jackobi cry out in pain. Instead, Jackobi held it in and focused on his blood running down the front of his Renegade uniform, mixing with his father’s blood.

  Jackobi gritted his teeth, dropped his daggers, and wrapped his hands around the blades sticking out of his chest. He held them tight, feeling the sharp steel dig into his palms, rip through them, and rub up against his finger bones. Grayn tri
ed to pull his daggers back through, but it was too late. Both men now grasped the same weapons, with the same Soarian heritage, turning the fight into a tug of war of the spirit to see who would control the essence.

  Without his full essence, Jackobi knew that Grayn would not be able to call upon his Lightning Form.

  On it went now, their whole bodies suffering as they literally pushed their life forces, everything that made them who they were, at each other. Existence versus existence. Silently, Grayn decided, it was better this way. Mistakes could happen in battle and usually, one mistake determined the winner. Not now. A true Shininja valued his grit and his resolve above all else. Whoever truly had what it took would claim the power and eliminate the other. There would be no tricks, no foul play. The better man would live, and the lesser man . . . would die.

  “You’re too passionate for a Shininja, too warm. That’s why you’ll fail. Your spirit, it’s too bright for the darkness . . .” Grayn grunted in Jackobi’s ear.

  “Just bright enough to see you die with my own eyes,” Jackobi said.

  “Grah!” Grayn grunted in pain.

  “You’re losing it.” Jackobi said.

  “Am I!?” Grayn shouted, letting the scream power his adrenaline.

  “GRAH!” Jackobi yelled..

  “Your regeneration has its limits. You’re losing too much blood. Nothing, nothing is more powerful than my resolve. I am without doubt. I am without feeling. I. Am. Justice!” Grayn said.

  “You’re a delusional hack. You hide in the darkness to avoid seeing what you are. The light shows flaws, chinks in the armor and you, you hide from it. You hide from the truth, to live in a lie, Gngh!”

  “You’re right, I can feel myself slipping. Your resolve has given me something to ponder on. No doubt your father’s recent death by my hands is empowering it, but alas, it’s over. You forget about my rings. I can let go, right now, and still activate my lightning form, eradicating you and erasing your matter from this world. You forgot the tiniest detail in your plan. I’ve let you have your fun. Now, go, be with your father,” Grayn said. He let go, giving Jackobi the Soarian essence of his daggers as he ignited the essence from his rings.

  There was a flash of yellow and a burst of blood as Grayn’s head fell from his shoulders.

  Jackobi turned around, Grayn’s daggers in his hands, and backed into a tree, pushing his arms back into their sockets with a cry of pain. He spied his father’s daggers on the ground, dropped Grayn’s, and picked them up. He looked at them, breathing a disappointed sigh.

  “These daggers were supposed to kill you, not your own,” Jackobi said, turning around at his defeated foe. He walked forward and stood over Grayn’s headless body and brought his father’s daggers down, over and over and over again, spraying the Strife’s blood every which way, screaming, yelling, pouring out all his hurt, and spilling all his pain.

  Minutes later, covered in bloode, Jackobi dropped the daggers and fell on all fours, breathing hard, his lungs feeling like sandbags.

  “Quite clever of you,” a voice said from behind him.

  Jackobi spun around to see a man with a white cloak covered in black blood and a Goat head over his face.

  “Grayn didn’t even know that you snuck into his room last night and replaced his Soarian rings with duds. Tell me, now that you have avenged your father’s death, how do you feel?” the Goat Man asked.

  “Who are you?” Jackobi asked.

  “You already know, you just don’t understand. Answer the question. How do you feel?” the Goat Man asked.

  “Empty,” Jackobi said.

  “The same as I,” the Goat Man said.

  “What is . . .” Jackobi started before feeling an awful ping in his stomach.

  “Your connection to him . . . You feel it, don’t you?” the Goat Man asked.

  “This, this pain . . . it’s like nothing, nothing I’ve ever felt. Gisbo. What is this?” Jackobi said.

  “I’ve come to retrieve you, Jackobi Foxblade. Code Risinyu is about to be activated,” the Goat Man said.

  “Code Risinyu?” Jackobi had time to mutter before he was teleported into a Heaven’s Shelter he no longer recognized.

  The Goat Man stood alone now, looking up through the trees.

  “It is finished . . .” the Goat Man said.

  Rolce was beside himself, frozen in disbelief, still sitting in the stands. Right before his eyes the Sybils’ vision came true. Gisbo, in a monsterous black form, threw Renegades asunder as if he were threshing wheat, moving like lightning and striking like thunder. All of it, all of his own incredible power was boosted by the Drakeness, and all of it was now under the control of a golden, gloved hand passing through from another world into theirs.

  Was his friend, his best friend, really inside that monster? He had to try, anything to break him free. Rolce reached out with the Mind-Link only to see a golden masked face. He felt a huge pain strike his head, and he was forced to disconnect.

  “So much power . . .” Rolce said. He knew that his friend was too far gone now. He thought of what Falcon hammered into them during training, especially Gisbo: control your fury, your rage, before someone else does.

  Rolce got back up on his feet, tears welling up in his eyes. How could he fight against his best friend? How? How could he strike to kill when . . .

  Suddenly, his eagle who sat upon his shoulder, flew from it, sensing the danger.

  “Harpie, HARPIE NO!” Rolce screamed. He watched his eagle, his partner, fly straight at the hulking wolf beast in a screech. He watched the wolf monster pluck the eagle from the air, and watched the monster, with two clawed hands, rip the bird apart, wing from wing, in an explosion of blood and feathers.

  The first life of many, was taken . . .

  Ernie and Dave rushed straight for Drakearon’s outstretched hand together. Even after many years, their teamwork was as flawless as during the days of their youth. They spied an opening. If they hit the bastard once, even if they just stalled him for a second, they knew it would be worth it. With all of their energy, they leapt onto the stage, their target before them, only to feel slight scratches upon their necks, as if bit by gnats. They kept moving, kept putting one foot in front of the other. The hand was right behind Purah and was only fifteen yards away when the world around the two old friends began to sparkle at the corners. They felt lightheaded, but pushed on until they could no longer feel their feet.

  Ernie fell first, and Dave was there to pick him up. They looked at each other and they both knew what had happened. Like two deer, shot through with an arrow, they were both bleeding out from their jugular veins. Gisbo has clipped them both with his claws as they passed.

  “Damn, we’re old . . .” Ernie said, hoisted up by Dave. Dave fell to the floor with a clatter and Ernie followed him.

  “Speak, speak for yourself . . .” Dave said.

  “What, what is this, Dave?” Ernie asked, his breathing uneven as he stared into his best friend’s bright blue eyes.

  “Death, I reckon,” Dave said.

  “Don’t much like it. If you, if you make it wherever we’re going first, tell the big guy down there to take it easy on Gizzy. Twasn’t his fault what happened here . . .” Ernie said.

  “Down there? You mean up there!” Dave said, cocking his chin up, with much effort, to the sky.

  “Always the optimist, Dave,” Ernie said.

  “That’s where my boy is. I know he’s put in a good word for me. If you’re lucky, maybe, maybe he mentioned you too,” Dave said, coughing up blood.

  “Fine, if that’s where you think two old trouble makers like us are headed, then, then . . .” Ernie started. “Oh, Gizzy, look at ‘im, Dave. Like a damned puppet on strings. If only, if only we got to that hand . . . then, then,”

  “Can’t, can’t” Dave started, realizing getting those two words out hurt terribly.

  “Dave . . .” Ernie said.

  “Ernie?” Dave said.

  “Cheers, to our next
big adventure. I love ya, you old bastard,” Ernie said, reaching out his hand. Dave managed to reach out his own. With tears in their eyes, they clasped, squeezed, and the two of them passed from the world of Thera.

  Ashlin Nora stood, unable to believe the speed and power that Gisbo threw at his old bosses. Two precise strikes took down both of them. Was this the same boy that had saved her life just a year ago? Whose blast hit her and filled her with such hope, such inspiration? Was that same boy now attacking and killing everyone she loved? Questions didn’t matter now. She knew that if it kept up, everything would be lost. She thought about the first day at Perry’s weapon training class and how she felt a connection with the loud mouthed, spikey-haired boy. He was the only other one who picked the same weapon as her, the extension of one’s soul. When that happened, she felt at peace. She wasn’t alone. There was someone like her out there. She was always different than most girls, and Gisbo, he . . .

  She thrust the memory aside. He had to be stopped and she knew that out of anyone, he could take what she was about to throw at him.

  “BASCO!” Ashlin yelled, summoning her Boon, a big brown bear. She activated her Boon form, changing into a much larger, furry variation of herself. She didn’t allow herself to think of who she was fighting. All she needed to do was stop him.

  She leapt from the stands and activated her Soarian power of flight, meaning to throw all of her power into one, precise blow right across the back of Gisbo’s head, ending his consciousness without killing him. That was her only mistake. If she had struck to kill, things may have been different . . .

  Anaka Laurin stood beside Glinda Bicknill and watched with horror as their synergy mate activated her bear form and flew straight for the hulking black wolf monster in the center of the ring, her big Talon sword extended. The two girls ran toward the ring, already too late to stop her as Gisbo spied her out of the corner of his eye.