Renegade Reborn (54 page)

A red flower.

Thomson was entranced by it, and in that moment, just before the hammer struck, he wished, and prayed, more than anything, that that man in blue, that Flarian Renegade, would come back, and that dog boy, the one who he had unmercifully mocked, beaten, and preyed upon, would . . .

Blood exploded upon Thomson’s face, hot, warm and thick washing over him like a crimson blanket, but, he felt no pain. In fact, he felt nothing at all. He decided to take a risk, to look away from the red flower and was so glad he did. His mouth went dry, then fell open. His skin prickled, his eyes looked as wide as full moons, and he felt his mind tug, as his eyes and brain argued, wondering, and deciding that if what stood before him now, was indeed real, or, just wish fulfillment.

A Renegade stood before him, his blue cape and bandanna flapping from the roaring flames. He stood looking down at the Strife with the warhammer who now lay dead at his feet, his wet innards scattered across the ground, glistening in the firelight like micha in the morning sun. The Renegade then looked up at him, and made eye contact, for just a moment, but said nothing, as he turned back around, and leapt into the fray with no thought, or fear, for his own life, with others, dressed just like him, and moved not like men and women, but forces of nature, of fire, of wind, of water, of air, complete with animal companions by their sides.

Thomson looked up at his father, who stared on, mouth agape, as the men and women in blue, for the first time that night, forced back the Black and Green armies.

“What the hell’s going on?” Thomson managed to mutter.

“A miracle . . .” Ricard stated firmly, as he smacked his son on the back, bringing his blood back to a steady flow, and together, with smiles upon their faces, and renewed morale, they joined with the warriors in blue.

Rolce and Jackobi led the charge, pointing here and there, as the Renegades stretched out, pushed back the army with their immense power and Boon abilities, and before long, with Ricard’s army providing backup, the army of Black began to be funneled back out of the courtyard, away from the head tower that held the shivering politicians, who knew not what to make of the arrival of these blue clad warriors who each fought as one man, and one woman armies in their own right.

Now, the Black and Green army began to separate and break apart into clusters, and for every cluster, a Renegade lead the charge, with a cluster of Ricard’s men backing them up, pushing and pushing them farther and farther back with fewer, and fewer numbers. It didn’t take the black and green clad men long to realize that they couldn’t compete with the skill and power of the Renegade leaders. They needed a power to match them, and on it came in the form of Ranto and Malik as they both fought their way up through the center, in a straight line, and found themselves face to face with Rolce, and Jackobi, and like a calm, manmade valley in the midst of the fighting the four warriors stood, staring at one another, weapons at the ready.

“Rolce Moordin,” Ranto said, grinning.

Rolce said nothing, only closed his eyes for a long moment, which gave Ranto cause for worrying.

“What’s he doing?” Malik asked, bloodied from head to toe, his swords still wafting with the odor of Mr. Rotstone’s cologne, and life blood.

“Sybil technique,” Jackobi said, grinning. “He’s insuring your defeat,”

“Hmph,” Malik grunted.

“What? You think we came? Just the six of us? Behind you, on my signal, right now, is an entire army of Flarians, and Soarians. You will be surrounded, nowhere left to go. Way I see it, you surrender now, stop this fighting, and we may, MAY, let you live in a deep, dark dungeon at the end of the universe,” Rolce said. Ranto smiled at this, stood at ease, and thought it over.

“He speaks truth, I feel them coming,” Malik said.

“Of course I do. Way I see it, this here, tonight, is just a spark, a spark, that will light the fire for the upcoming war, the final war, the war, for Thera itself. You think that we, are right where you want us? No, you, are right where I want you,” Ranto said. “Welcome, to the foresight of Ranto Narroway, it certainly takes some getting used to . . .”

Ranto then closed his eyes and channeled his connection with his army, who had all taken of his blood, the blood of Drakearon, and suddenly, they halted their fighting.

“STOP! EVERYONE!” Rolce shouted through a mind-link. Their army stood down instantly.

“This is the exact position I was worried about being in . . . should we bring in the army, he’ll turn the Strifes into living bombs, and kill everyone . . .” Rolce said, looking all about now as the armies halted their charge and stood waiting, eyes darting every which way.

“Whether you like it or not, Rolce. This city? It’s going to fall, along with all it represents. It has to, for when it does, starting tomorrow, you will all ask the question, ‘where were you, the night democracy died?’”

Ranto, finished his final syllable, and that’s when Jackobi struck. Activating his light form, taught to him by his father, Jackobi moved with both of his daggers, aiming for the heart of Ranto in less than the speed of a blink, but Ranto, didn’t blink.

Jackobi felt both of his wrists become caught in two iron-clad grips, then felt them being ground together. He looked up to see, that with one grab of his massive hand, Ranto had caught both of Jackobi’s wrists mid-stab, and now, was squeezing them together, so tightly, that Jackobi was forced to his knees.

“Yes, this is the exact position I like you in. You move, one inch, and I break your hands, and what is a Shininja, without his hands?” Ranto asked.

Jackobi gritted his teeth, fighting back the scream rising in his throat, not about to give Ranto the satisfaction of letting him hear it.

“I don’t think you understand, Jack. While you and your little friends spent your time cowering and sniveling these past three years, trying to overcome your sorrow, I spent my time, my every waking second, training, going above and beyond that of a mortal man.” Ranto said, leaning in, his white teeth glistening like stars. “You’ve gotten slow,”

Ranto then lifted Jackobi off his feet, and tossed him forward as easily as he would a bag of weeds, landing him on his rear, and causing him to drop his daggers in favor of rubbing at his tender wrists.

“Now, sit there, and be good. I’ve had time to think this over, and really, this is a no win situation for all of us. It has taken quite sometime for me to control my Drakeness long enough to infect my own army, and impose my will over them. For us to fight, we would no doubt, kill one another, and keep killing, until there is nothing left to salvage.” Ranto said. “But, Oak County still needs to fall this night, and for it to fall, this tower, and everyone in it, needs to be destroyed, then burned away, forever.

So, I say this to your Renegades. Toss out the leaders from their high tower, and hand them over to us. You do this, and we will pack up, leave, and both sides will live to fight another day, or? I ignite my army, and kill us all!” Ranto said.

“The more time that passes, the more powerful Drakearon becomes! You’re turning your army onto the wrong place!” Jackobi said.

“I almost hear this as an invitation? To join with you, and bring the fight to Drakearon? I wouldn’t worry yourself. He’s next on my list. You Renegades, are just so few nowadays . . .” Ranto said.

“You forget another option,” Malik said, grinning, he pulled out his sword. “What if I say, to hell with all of you, and bring on the chaos?”

“What’s stopping you then?” Ranto asked, turning to him.

“We both know the answer to that,” Malik said. Ranto suddenly found the ground quite interesting, showing a glimmer of weakness that only Jackobi caught.

“I know a bluff when I hear one, both of you. Neither of you want to die. All you’re doing, is stalling. What is this really all about?” Jackobi asked.

Neither one said anything.

“This, this whole thing, it’s about him, isn’t it?” Jackobi asked, rising to his feet, and cracking his neck.

“Jack?” Rolce asked, but Jack didn’t hear him.

“Both of you, look at you, even at the end, you’re still nothing, but puppets, willing to obey, all, for him. You want him, like, little boys on a damned playground. You were willing to obey, adapt to theories that aren’t your own, to raise armies, take innocent lives, all for The Goat Man? All to settle a game of pride? You’re both the epitome of pathetic.” Jackobi said.

“You don’t understand,” Ranto said, hanging his head in shame. “There’s more going on here, things beyond our control, things, you cannot control . . .”

“I don’t think so. Look at you, both of you. So much power, so much animosity, and yet, still, the two of you can’t sleep at night, because his laugh, his face, haunts your dreams. Doesn’t he? Well, he’s not here. I don’t know where the hell he is . . .” Jackobi said.

“He’ll be here,” Malik said. “He has no choice,”

“And how do you know?” Rolce asked.

“The Goat Man,” Ranto said, in a nervous tone. Together they grew silent at this.

“I’ve heard that name,” Rolce said.

“He’s beyond all of us, even Drakearon. We are but puppets on a string, and we have no choice,” Ranto said.

“You always have a choice,” Rolce said.

“Not this time.” Malik said.

“Why?” Jackobi asked.

“BECAUSE HIS CHOICE IS EXACTLY WHAT WE WANT!” Malik said. “I want to break him, I want to humiliate him, I want to see him suffer, I want to make him feel all the pain, all the restlessness he’s caused me! I’ve thought of nothing else, NOTHING!” Malik said. Ranto then looked down at him, fire in his eyes.

“Then you’ll have to get in line,” Ranto said.

“I’ve had it, I’VE HAD IT WITH ALL OF THIS! All this talking, all these promises, and he’s not even here! Again, again the Goat Man’s lied to us!” Malik said. “If I can’t have Gisbo Falcon, I WILL HAVE ALL OF YOU!”

Malik then turned to his army.

“DON’T DO IT!” Rolce screamed.

“KILL EVERYTHING THAT MOVES! EVOLUTION THROUGH CHAOS! NOW!” Malik said, as he powered up his essence in a fierce blast of Flarian energy, throwing everyone around him off their feet, as he entered a writhing, berserker rage, throwing himself in the middle of the charge, killing not only Ricard’s men, but Ranto’s, as well as his own, and madness, like a diseases, spread through the armies, and Malik’s wish and desire came true.

Chaos, reigned.

“Damn, him!” Ranto said. “HE’S RUINING EVERYTHING! Fine! If I can’t have, Gisbo, then I’ll have everything he loves! Starting with you, ROLCE MOORDIN!”

Ranto, with gritted teeth, ignited his Flarian essence while at the same time, channeling his Drakeness, and charged at Rolce, and hit him with a huge, heavy, rising uppercut. Rolce managed to raise up his arms in a crisscross, blocking it, but it did little to stop the velocity of the punch. The blow sent him flying up and over the fighting, as he landed, alone, into the open courtyard, the same courtyard where he had his very first taste of battle during his Elekai’ tryouts.

Rolce managed to get up to one knee before Ranto was on him, kicking him in the stomach and lifting up into the air again. Rolce, as he traveled up, puked out blood, and then, saw that Ranto, had joined him in mid-air, caught him, and as if he weighed nothing, threw him downward as if he were spiking a sport’s ball.

Jackobi, stared on in horror, watching Rolce land, then become decimated with heavy blows, over, and over, from Ranto, sinking him deeper into the earth with each strike.

“Still too weak from his fight with Purah . . . DAMN, IT! HE’S GONNA KILL HIM!” Jackobi yelled. He was about to charge in, when his brain stopped him. He knew if he charged in now, he would save Rolce’s life, but only for a moment, before Ranto turned his newfound strength, and powers, onto him . . .

“Who else could have caught that city if not you, Gisbo?” Jackobi asked himself aloud. He now looked to the sky, quickly closed his eyes, and searched, feeling out across Thera, trying to find any trace of Gisbo, and again, only came up with a hard surface, blocking him out.

“No, not this time, I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE!” Jackobi said, and this time, rather than search for Gisbo’s conscious, he searched for the traces of Phoenix essence, found them, and followed the trail until they stopped dead, but before they did, there was a silver of an image, a sign, a sign reading . . .

“I don’t believe it . . . after all this time, and you still, you still,” Jackobi stammered, his voice gravely with rising anger, his eyes squinting, and vibrating with a fury that he could no longer control.

“You selfish prick . . .”

And with that said, Jack quickly punched the ground, activated his Drakeness teleportation, and disappeared from the battlefield.

Chapter Twenty Seven: White Knuckle Sobriety

Gisbo Falcon stood on the edge of the Flarian desert, gazing out with his heightened, bird of prey like vision, a gift from the Phoenix power raging through his bloodstream, watching as the Flarians poured out of Cledwyn City to the aid of the fallen Soarian’s being overrun by the minions of Drakearon. He smiled, knowing full well the Flarian’s love for battle would come first over their love for the Soarian’s, but the results would be the same. The Soarian’s would see the Flarian’s actions as humility, and the two civilizations would come together as allies, and that was just what was needed if Drakearon was to fall. An alliance.