Renegade Rupture

by J. C. Fiske

  “Neither of you understand . . .” Drakearon said. He unleashed a quick pulse of burning fire toward her, just enough to disintegrate her whip and toss her back, but Kennis only rolled and got back to her feet. Tenacity flowing through her, she pushed forward with her Aquarian energy, and kept Drakearon’s raging fire at bay.

  “How entertaining! Let’s see just how far your love will take you . . .” Drakearon said. He raised a finger and shot a concentrated blast of fire, shattering her Aquarian energy shield and sending her to the ground again, bouncing the back of her head on the granite.

  With a cry of pain, Kennis got back up, the back of her head soaked with blood. Whatever haunted Gisbo’s mind took a back seat upon seeing the crimson in Kennis’ hair.

  He understood what the second wound was.

  “KENNIS! MOVE! RUN AWAY!” Gisbo screamed, trying to move forward as a crippling pulse of pain flooded his body. Gisbo gritted his teeth, biting his tongue in the process, as he planted each elbow. Slamming them down one in front of the other, he dragged himself through the firestorm. Drakearon relaxed his power.

  “Are you not a man? Save her. If I am the villain, stop me,” Drakearon taunted. He fired a host of tiny, explosive fire shots at Kennis, each one landing a hit as they struck her legs, her shoulders, and across her stomach. Her every scream shot through and pierced Gisbo’s heart. It was the only thing allowing him to move forward.

  “BASTARD!” Gisbo screamed, tears stinging the corners of his eyes as he dragged himself along.

  “She’s giving it her all. All for you,” Drakearon said as he reached out with a fire lasso, catching her and dragging him to her. With one arm, he held her barely conscious form up.

  Gisbo’s eyes went wide as he froze.

  “One last chance. Get up, save her . . . prove me wrong. Prove all of what I said wrong. Pray to your Phoenix to give you the power, like he did the last time,” Drakearon said.

  “I, please, please, IAM, Phoenix! Please! Fill me with your power! Please! Anything! PLEASE!” Gisbo cried.

  There was no answer.

  “Pathetic . . . It’s time,” Drakearon said. He held his sword blade over Kennis’s throat, and Gisbo felt his body pump a final surge of adrenaline, enough to stand, but not enough to run.

  Gisbo lumbered forward, each step feeling as if his legs weighed hundreds of pounds, fighting to stay conscious as he passed through the raging fire. With no essence left in his body to defend against the flame, his hair twisted and curled, only to be grown back again and again by the Drakeness. He didn’t notice, didn’t feel it; all he saw were his love’s bright blue eyes, his beacon in the storm, leading him forward.

  He made it; he was now within striking distance. Gisbo moved, threw a fist, and struck Drakearon, only to have the strike rebound back at him, felling him again.

  “Look into the girl’s eyes for the last time, Gisbo. Have your final say,” Drakearon said. Gisbo didn’t hear him as he rolled onto his stomach and struck at Drakearon’s shins. The power rebounded again.

  “Gisbo, Gisbo, stop . . . please . . .” Kennis said. “Listen to me.”

  Gisbo stopped, his face on Drakearon’s boot.

  “Gisbo, look at me,” Kennis said. Gisbo felt drops hit the top of his head, and he managed to roll on his back and look up. He saw Kennis’s face through hazy vision, her warm tears falling and splashing on his forehead and dripping down his cheeks, adding to his own.

  “It wasn’t, it wasn’t supposed to be this way . . . this isn’t how it ends, Kennis! This isn’t, this can’t be how it ends! Fairy tales are real! Dreams come true, happy endings, they exist! Kennis, I . . .”

  “Yes, Gisbo, yes they do. You helped show me that. The time I’ve spent with you, the time I . . .” Kennis said.

  “Finish it up,” Drakearon snapped.

  “Just know, Gisbo, no matter what, know that with everything I am, I love . . .” Kennis was unable to finish her sentence as Drakearon’s blade made its move and slashed her throat to ribbons, and let her fall.

  Kennis dropped to her knees, clutching her bleeding throat. With her last remaining strength, she managed to crawl beside him so that they were eye to eye. She reached out, grabbed his hand, and squeezed it tight, she tried to speak, to finish her sentence, to say that she loved him . . .

  She opened her mouth, but no words came. A moment later, the sparkle in her blue eyes died, and he felt her hand go limp in his grasp.

  “No . . .” Gisbo stammered, tears streaming down his face. Drakearon turned his mask around and his soft, charismatic voice returned.

  “It is complete. From this day forward, you will never be whole again. You now understand. Soon, Gisbo, you will seek me out for peace. When that time comes, I will give it to you, and I will make you whole,” Drakearon said. He turned the mask back around to the monster face. He reached down and lifted Gisbo up by the neck, holding him tightly. The deep, maniacal voice came back.

  “But know this, I cannot lie to you. My other half may want to save you, but between you and I, when I stood there, when I held cold, sharp steel over your love’s throat and took her final breath . . .” Drakearon said, getting closer now, leaning and whispering in his ear. Gisbo felt his hot breath tickle the faint hairs within his ears.

  “. . . I enjoyed every moment of it.”

  With that, he let Gisbo fall and stood over him. More and more Drakelings poured out of the portal as it grew larger and larger, sucking in the Renegade’s deceased essence.

  “Has Lokin reached the young man?” Purah asked. Drakearon closed his eyes, then opened them again.

  “He’s ready,” Drakearon said. Lokin appeared before them, falling, unable to hold the gigantic weight in his arms.

  “I don’t like to complain, but did you honestly think me able to carry this moose?” Lokin asked.

  “Of course not. I sensed your plight, and I helped you, just as I sense this boy’s plight,” Drakearon said.

  “Very well,” Lokin said.

  “I will handle this,” Drakearon said as he walked forward and looked down at . . .

  “Ranto Narroway. I heard your prayers from your hospital bed. I have come for you.” Drakearon said.

  “Yes, you have,” Ranto said.

  “Great, great power flows through you, but do you realize what the Drakeness entails? You do realize that,” Drakearon started.

  “What I realize is that one can only go so far with their own power. I learned the harsh lesson of my limitations and training. The Drakeness is the next step in human evolution. I wish to be a part of that. I wish to become fully realized, just as my cousin has. He has shown me the error of my ways, and with the power of the Dragon, my mind, body, and spirit will be cured and strengthened,” Ranto said.

  “Yes, yes they will. With your power and my own flowing through you, you will be beneath no man but myself. Power everlasting. Does this suit you?” Drakearon asked.

  “More than you’ll ever know,” Ranto said, smiling.

  “Then Ranto Narroway, rise, born anew with power and peace everlasting,” Drakearon said. He placed his hand upon Ranto’s forehead. Ranto felt his whole body shudder and shake and he puked up black bile. Drakearon pulled his hand free.

  “On your feet, Ranto Narroway,” Drakearon said. Ranto, his body healed from the Drakeness, rose and felt the mark of the Drakeness now upon his forehead.

  “Come, let us finish and be off. I’d rather not see any more bloodshed,” Drakearon said. “As for him, we’ll take him with us, restrain him, and wait for him to break. Would you mind carrying your cousin?”

  “Gladly,” Ranto said. He went forward, but a globe of golden energy wrapped about Gisbo, protecting him.

  “Sybil energy . . .” Purah said. He looked through the sea of black at a golden figure in a meditative position, rising up into the air, wrapped in a shining gold aura. More golden globes popped up around certain Renegades, stemming and blocking the flowing sea of black like stepping stones in a
raging river.

  “What is he . . .” Purah started.

  “It seems our final battle with the Renegades will not end here. Just like the last time, they’ve done it again. They’ve activated Code Risinyu,” Drakearon said.

  Rolce Moordin, his Boon form unavailable to him now, was lost in a sea of black. The only indication of his fellow Renegades were colored lights that were disappearing all around him at an alarming rate. He knew it was only a matter of time before something snuck around his swirling staff and landed a killing blow.

  Then, suddenly, he found himself encased in a glowing, golden globe of energy that he recognized as Sybil energy.

  As far as he could tell, he couldn’t pierce through it, but neither could the scratching Drakelings and Drakeknights on the other side. He was trapped. Unbeknownst to him, several of his comrades across the battlefield were trapped also.

  The next moment he was forced into a Mind-Link and brought to a place where time did not flow or exist.

  Rolce found himself standing at the gates of Heaven’s Shelter, looking up at the glowing entrance sign that said in the colors of all four elements, “Welcome Home.”

  But he was not alone.

  Standing beside him was Anaka Laurin, Crass Bastio, Glinda Bicknill, Grandfield Groggo, Niffin Roarie, Whip Miles, and Rake Lokin. They all looked at one another in utmost confusion.

  “What the hell is this? Where the hell are we?” Crass stammered.

  “Mind-Link, but this feels different than before,” Whip said.

  “Your extraordinary senses are correct, Whip Miles,” Sybil Honj said. All their Class Masters, mothers, and fathers appeared before them in a straight line.

  “What, what is going on? Gisbo! Where’s Gisbo!? He, he,” Grandfield started, only to be interrupted by Glinda.

  “HE KILLED ASHLIN! HE,” Glinda started.

  “He killed all those Renegades! He, he,” Anaka started.

  “No, no, he did not. Drakearon killed Ashlin. Drakearon killed all of those Renegades. Gisbo was the unfortunate weapon carrying it out. His mind, his will was not his own,” Sybil Honj said. “Right now, I cannot sense him or his father. Somehow, Falcon resisted me again. He should be here. His stubbornness knows no bounds; he . . .”

  “He has a reason, he must,” Moordin said.

  “His essence, no offense to you all, cannot afford to be lost. Pieces of Vadid himself lay within him. Already Drakearon’s army has taken Bastio’s essence, Ernie’s, Dave’s, Ashlin’s parents, and countless others. It was not his call to make. He knows how sacred Code Risinyu is,” Sybil Honj said bitterly.

  “Code Risinyu?” Rolce asked.

  “Risinyu, the Flarian word for ‘rebirth.’ The reason we are here. This is no mere linking of the minds, but of the soul, the mind, and the body,” Sybil Honj said.

  “Why do I not like the sound of this . . .” Whip said.

  “Renegades, have you ever wondered why none of our masters are still alive?” Sybil Honj asked.

  “They got old?” Grandfield stammered, just to break the tension.

  “No, son. When the time came, those who were available activated Code Risinyu and passed on their essence to our generation. Our generation’s power is a combination of hundreds of warriors before you who, either at their death or at certain death, go through Risinyu, Rebirth. They pass on their essence, their power, to the next generation, to keep it from being lost. In our world energy cannot be created, nor destroyed, but it can be transferred, passed on. Now it is our turn to pass on not just our essence, but our life force . . . to all of you . . . the next generation,” Sybil Honj said.

  The group fell silent.

  “Like it or not, we are going to die out there. It is unavoidable. But all of you will live on, and our power, and the power of hundreds of Renegades before us, will live on, within you all. Our symbol is the Phoenix, the symbol of sacrifice for something far greater than ourselves, you all, and this world, only to rise from the ashes and rise stronger and higher than ever before!” Sybil Honj said.

  There was silence.

  “No doubt this is where Gisbo would shout something. Would anyone like to . . .” Sybil Honj started.

  “What you’re saying is you’re going to kill yourselves! Kill yourselves over, over some stupid tradition? This is sick! This is weak! This is . . .” Grandfield started.

  “This is necessary, son, and no, this is not suicide. I have protected you with an unbreakable Sybil field. When my mind breaks, it will break too. Each of you will watch as your Class Masters fight to their last breath taking out as many Drakelings, Drakeknights, whatever you want to call them, as they can. Their essence, now linked to you, will not be wasted. When we fall, and you absorb their energies, you will be transported away from the battle to safety. When it’s over, you must come together, as we did, to bring peace, real peace, back to this world,” Sybil Honj said, taking a deep breath.

  “The time has come for our generation to step aside and for your generation to lead. The cycle continues, and with it, our power will be added to yours. It has been an honor, Renegades. Do not mourn us. Instead, carry us in your mind, body, and heart,” Narroway said, doing the traditional Renegade greeting. “It has been an honor serving with you. Goodbye, my friends, until we meet again.”

  “Wait! WAIT!” Grandfield screamed, but it was too late.

  “No . . .” Rolce said, placing his hands upon his golden cage, helpless to get out. “NO!”

  Rolce saw his father and Moordin. The energy field blocked out everything else, only showing their battle. Back to back, they swung their Bo-staffs, expelling their Naforian energy outward, taking out everything in their way but for every destroyed monster, countless more took their places.

  Rolce saw the two best friends glow a shade of green he had never seen before, and he knew they radiated not just their essence, but the essence of generations of Naforian Renegades as it leaked from them into Rolce’s golden globe, filling it.

  Rolce felt the memories of hundreds of lives, then deaths, wash over him in a flash. The power and emotion was so great that he fell to the ground, but try as he might, he could not close his eyes. He was forced to watch his father and mentor give their lives so that he, and the rest of his generation, may live on.

  He saw Moordin’s knees buckle as a creature severed his hamstring. Shax felt his friend slide down his back and reached down to catch him, only to get a scythe from a Drakeknight right into his gut.

  Together they fell, hitting the ground, both of them staring at him. They smiled, and Moordin spoke, his voice filling Rolce’s golden globe.

  “Rolce Moordin, I’m sorry it had to be this way. Looking at you, I see myself looking at my own master, Grandir Hapenstay. He probably saw himself too as his master sacrificed himself so the line of essence, and power, would not be wasted, would not be lost. Rolce, I will never forget the day you first walked into Heaven’s Shelter. It took all I could to hide my excitement. I couldn’t show you how much I favored you then; it wouldn’t have been good for you. You were too talented as it was. Now, now I can,” Moordin said.

  “We both can, son. Thank you for not giving up on me. You freed me from a torment you couldn’t possibly imagine, and I hope you never do. Rolce, if your mother was here, if she could look at you, no doubt she would come to tears. You have not only become the man I wished you to be, but you have become the man that I always wanted to be. Strong, patient, and kind. A holy trinity that will not only bless you, but all others who cross your path. Now go, be the man that this world needs you to be. I love you, son, more than you could ever know,” Shax said.

  “Rolce, it’s up to you and Jackobi and Gisbo now. I know you’ll make us proud. Just know, above all else . . .” Moordin said. For the first time, Rolce saw tears pour from his mentor’s eyes, causing tears to well up in his own eyes.

  “I love you.”

  “No . . . please,” Rolce stammered. He watched as their eyes closed and they fell to
the ground.

  Chapter Thirty Seven: Falcon’s Last Stand

  On and on it went, Renegades falling in glowing piles. Their essence was no longer lost to the wind, but sent to the next generation of Renegades. Sybil Honj looked across the battlefield and saw the multitudes of black creatures stalling, frozen, trying to find targets that were no longer around. For a moment, there was peace in their confusion. Then he felt it, and saw, and heard a red spark out in the distance, fighting its way alone closer and closer to the ring where Drakearon, Gisbo, Purah, Ranto, and Lokin stood. His battlecry was legendary, his sword moved like a firebolt, and all fell before him as he fought his way through the black sea.

  “Stubborn fool . . .” Sybil Honj said. He then felt his heart seize in his chest. He gripped his left pectoral and coughed up blood. Honj knew he wouldn’t survive Code Risinyu, but had it really passed so quickly? He surveyed the glowing golden globes and breathed a deep sigh. This was it. His last bit of power was gone. He would have to use his soul energy to send the surviving Renegades to safety.

  He took the last breath he would ever have in the mortal world, filled up his lungs, enjoying every bit of it. He held it, focused his mind, and pushed the remaining Renegades away to safety, leaving only one, the most stubborn and tenacious of all, to carry on the Renegade battle cry.

  “Look at him! Still he fights, even when all others have fallen. He is so close to becoming mine again, Purah, I can feel it.” Drakearon said. “We must at least try.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it,” Purah said. Drakearon ignored him and held up his hand. The multitude of black creatures stopped their attack and backed away from Falcon Vadid, the last Renegade still able to swing a sword.

  The creatures formed lines on each side of Falcon, giving him a direct and clear path straight to Drakearon.

  Falcon gazed up at the one man besides Vadid himself who had such a huge effect upon his life with an intense, unwavering stare.