Renegade Reborn (56 page)

“Look at me,” Jackobi said.

Gisbo cocked an eye backward, but didn’t turn around.

“Look at me, damn it, you owe me that much,” Jackobi said. Gisbo, with a sigh, turned around to face him. Jackobi shook his head, absolute devastation on his features.

“They were right. They were all right. I look at you, and I see the change now. The Gisbo Falcon I knew, is dead, and gone, replaced with, with this selfish, second-guessing, emotional wreck, and even Vadid the Valiant, the greatest champion Thera’s ever had, couldn’t even fix you. You’re done, and now? We’re done . . .” Jackobi said, as he turned and made his way to the door. The bar was silent, all eyes were upon him as Jackobi put one hand on the double doors, thought for a moment, then pushed on through, into the darkness outside.

Gisbo sighed, and stared at the floor, his head a racing mess, his stomach twisting into guilt-ridden bows. He then heard the Barkeep clear his throat.

“On the house.” The Barkeep said, dropping another bottle of Flarian Firebolt Whiskey. Gisbo looked up at him was about to say something, when he was interrupted by the double doors behind him that swung back open, and slapped both of the walls at the same, precise moment, in a THWACK sound. Gisbo spun back around.

“But,” Jackobi said, standing there.

Gisbo, this time, found Jackobi’s eyes on his own, and when they did, Jackobi gave a wry, hopeful grin.

“But, if the Gisbo Falcon I know and love, is in there, then he better listen up, and listen good. We need a leader, and not just any leader. We don’t need this depressed, whiskey downing, look the other way, keep to himself, loner. No, no! You know what I need? You know who WE need? We need the old Gisbo Falcon! We need the Gisbo Falcon who’s a hell raising, beer swilling, foul mouthed, take no shit from anybody, Renegade!” Jackobi shouted to the rooftop. Gisbo Falcon stared at him, thought for a long moment, then finally, turned around, grabbed the bottle, got up, and walked past Jackobi right out through the double doors, and disappeared into the night.

“If Rolce dies tonight, if we all die! It’s on you! IT’S ON YOU, YOU DAMNED SELIFSH PRICK!” Jackobi called after him, but his words fell on deaf ears.

Jack put his hands on his hips, cursed violently, retrieved his daggers, powered them up, teleported, and returned to the fighting.

Rolce flew backward, three of his ribs cracked from Ranto’s giant, spinning back fist. He would have hit the wall, and possibly snapped his neck if not for Jackobi, who appeared right behind him, and managed to catch him, but at the cost of his own balance. The two Synergy Mates went tumbling and tumbling until they both came up against the wall, Jackobi, right side up, and Rolce, upside down.

“We have to get out of here, or call in the other armies.” Jack said. “Now.”

“No,” Rolce said weakly, rising back up to his feet, only to collapse into a heap. Jackobi leaned forward and it was only then did he see the true extent of Rolce’s damaged face. His friend’s eyes were but slits, swelled shut, and the color of eggplants. His nose was smashed in, twisted to one side, like a rung out rag, and both of his lips were split wide open. Silently, Jackobi cursed Gisbo’s name.

“Rolce, we have to retreat, now, count our losses and face reality. Oak County is lost. We can’t risk the Flarian and Soarian armies. We must regroup, prepare for the final battle, and,” Jack started.

“He’ll come . . .” Rolce stammered, trying to get back up again, and managing to get to one knee.

“Rolce, he’s not coming . . . I’ve seen his heart, and . . .” Jack said.

“But, but you haven’t seen what I’ve seen, have you?” Rolce asked plainly.

“Rolce . . .” Jackobi said, grabbing his friend by the arm, trying to help him stand back up.

“He’s going to come, he’s going to end this, and until he does, I’m going to keep fighting, with, or without you,” Rolce said, as he shook off Jack’s grasp on his arm, got up on his own, and stared out across at Ranto, who stood, silently, arms folded, waiting.

“Rolce, he’ll kill you . . . don’t . . .” Jack pleaded.

“
I’LL
KILL YOU!” Malik shouted from above. Jack had time to turn, and look up to see an Oak County soldier along the wall lose his head, then, using his neck stump as a spring board, Malik Strife leapt up, then swooped down on him, flying at Jackobi like a bird of prey. Jack had time to power up his essence, and throw his body weight, and daggers forward in order to match the velocity and weight of Malik’s dual, curved blades. There was a spray of sparks as the blades struck one another. The two stood there now, locked, pushing, and testing each other’s strengths.

“You’re his friend, aren’t you? One of his best?” Malik asked, grinning wickedly. Jackobi gritted his teeth. He couldn’t speak. It took all he could just to hold Malik to a stationary position. “You think you can take me. Can’t you?”

Jack replied with a sweeping kick, trying to take out Malik’s balance, but Malik merely lifted his leg up, leaving Jack the one fighting for balance, but only for a moment, as Jack broke free of the weapon lock and flung his body forward into a tumble, past Malik’s right side, and came dagger up, aiming for Malik’s jugular, but only hit air, as Malik dodged the strike, and countered with his own, longer, heavier blade. On they went now, Malik on the attack, Jackobi on the defense, slicing, dodging, feigning, in a swirling dance where the slightest misstep, meant death.

Meanwhile, Rolce was making no headway in his fight against Ranto, who now, was merely acting upon his deepest, darkest of pleasures, sadism, and domination, and like a master surgeon, he pried, struck, and stabbed at a beyond beaten Rolce, loving the way he grunted, bled, and cried, but also, loving how he kept coming back for more, and more! It was exhilarating, but he knew the feeling wouldn’t last. Rolce was now moving, and swaying with the grace of a three-legged moose. Now, it was no longer enjoyable. With a quick charge, Ranto clotheslined him with his forearm, sweeping Rolce right off his feet and onto his back. He knew he wouldn’t be getting back up, and like a shark, he circled around him now, taking in the scent of blood, sweat, and tears, all caused by him. The smell was intoxicating, and Ranto, breathed it in deeply, as if it were a fine wine.

“I find it funny, that here, in your final moments, I can’t help but think of way back when, the time I first spoke to you, and challenged you to an eating contest. So silly, I know . . .” Ranto said.

Rolce coughed up blood, and let out a low, grinding wheeze.

“ . . . I really did pick you out that day, because, well, I thought that a guy of your size could give me a challenge, but, we both know how that went.” Ranto said, frowning now. “Your idiot friend had to jump in, and ruin everything . . . I sometimes wonder how different of a man I would be today, if me, and your friend had never crossed paths . . .”

Ranto then reached down and picked Rolce up by the collar, as if he weighed nothing, so that he could look him straight in the eyes.

“But I never wonder for long. It’s a shame. I didn’t want it to end this way. I never had anything against you, Rolce, other than you were friends with that blithering idiot, and I know that you would never allow the world I want to come to pass. They say your faith, Rolce, is your strongest asset. Ironic, how your faith in your friend, has lead you here . . .” Ranto said he raised back his fist, ready to throw it straight through Rolce’s face.

“SIR! SIR!” A shrill voice called from behind them. Ranto spun around to see a Strife clad in Nazarite attire drop to one knee and lower his head in reverence.

“Captain Janis . . .” Ranto snapped, cocking his head around to face him. “For your sake, this had better worth the interruption . . .”

“Reports from the wall sensory squad, Sir! We all felt it! Something, something big is coming this way, and coming in fast!” The Strife said, genuine worry to his tone. Ranto tossed Rolce aside as if he were a bag of leaves and turned to face Janis, who remained on one knee with his head still lowered.

“What is it?” Ranto asked. At this, Janis looked up. Ranto was used to his men trembling in his presence, but this man shook for an entirely different reason.

“An army, Sir, an army . . . of Flarians, coming this way from the south gate!” Janis said. At this, Ranto’s eyes grew large, then, he closed them, stretched out his hand, activated his Drakeness, and hovered it in the air, searching, sensing, then, opened his eyes, and turned back to Janis.

“I sense nothing! Rolce! Did you call them for them? You fool! You . . . “ Ranto started, when suddenly, from below him, Rolce, began to chuckle, then laugh.

“I feel it too, but, I, I called no one.” Rolce said.

“What did you say?” Ranto asked.

“He’s, he’s coming . . .” Rolce said.

“You’re delusional, both of you, no one is . . .” Ranto started, and then he felt it too, like an explosion in his head, definitely of Flarian origins, so bright, so huge, it was too much to focus on, like trying to count kernels of sand in a windstorm. He felt his heart leap up into his chest, felt gooseflesh tear across his body, felt a bead of cold sweat drip down and cling to the tip of his nose. This was no army . . .

It was one man.

“S-see?” Rolce asked.

“Impossible . . .” Ranto said as he noticed that all around him, he wasn’t the only one who felt the oncoming power. Strifes, Oak County Soldiers, Malik’s men, and even Malik himself had subconsciously, halted their fighting, all glancing about with unease, feeling the weight of something, something they didn’t quite understand, coming straight for them . . .

Suddenly, the ground began to vibrate, then outright quake, and from the splits in the earth, fire, blue fire, shot up in a series of walls, cutting off friend, from foe, forcing a cease attack from all sides, as the flames, now began to grow, and move, seemingly at random at first before it all came clear. Something, was herding them, like sheep, and before long, on one side of the flames, stood Ranto and Malik’s Green and Black Armies, and on the other stood The Renegades and the army of Oak County, and between them, stretched a pathway right down the middle, toward the open gates . . .

“This is . . . ” Crass Bastio started, as he reached out, and touched the blue flames. It was as if he just woke from a deep, relaxing sleep, but more than that, a fire in his belly started, and crawled up, straight into his heart, filling it with resolve, passion, and erasing any fear. He looked about to see everyone else was doing the same, but across the way, it was an entirely different story. Every time the Strifes, or Malik’s men touched the flames, the flames did as they were supposed to. They bit, and they burned, and depending on just who touched them, they bit and burned to various degrees, even eradicating an unfortunate few who got too close.

“I-I feel, I feel like I can take on Drakearon himself!” Whip Miles screamed loudly down the line.

“I feel so, so . . . confident! What is this?” Glinda asked, a big smile stretching across her face. She then felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Niffin, reaching out, touching her hand in the flames. She had tears in her eyes, and a huge grin on her face, so big, it looked as if it stung a little.

“Phoenix Fire . . . Gisbo’s here!” Niffin said.

“Gisbo?” Glinda asked, saying the name as if she had never heard it spoken before.

Ranto stood in the pathway between the flames, alone, out in the open, feeling as vulnerable as a rodent from the perspective of an eagle, an eagle, he couldn’t see, only sense. The power source, it seemed to be all around him now, penetrating him, weighing him down . . .

“Where are you?” Ranto muttered under his breath, staring down the pathway toward the open gates. He then felt Rolce stir below, and looked down to see that he was still struggling to breathe, but still had that big smile upon his face. He hated it. Ranto was about to raise his foot up to drop it down on Rolce’s face, ending any and all future smiles, when he felt his throat squeeze shut, and grow dry.

There, through the gates, from the forest, were two, emblazoned fireballs, just, floating there, in the darkness. Ranto blinked furiously, swiped a forearm across his eyes. Sure enough, they were still there, but more than that, they were moving . . .

Ranto felt himself swallow, and breathe out an uneasy, shaky breath as he wiped away another bead of cold sweat, and watched as the red fireballs bounced back and forth, back and forth, as if they somehow, impossibly, had legs beneath them.

“Can’t be you, no way in . . .” Ranto muttered, and then, the fireballs breached the gates, and stood in the firelight. They weren’t fireballs in the slightest. They were eyes, eyes lit in red fire, eyes belonging to . . . there was no mistaking it . . .

Gisbo Falcon had returned to Oak County.

Chapter Twenty Eight: The Reunion

Gisbo walked down the cobble stoned street of his childhood home, doing his best to not let his mind or vision wander and conjure up memories. If he was to maintain focus, maintain his Phoenix power, he needed to keep not the past, but the future on his mind, he needed to . . .

He then felt a Fao’s cold nose rub against his hand, and follow it up with a warm lick from her tongue, her way of saying, you won’t be doing this alone. Gisbo allowed himself to look down, and was met with his wolf, brandishing a doggy smile. Gisbo smiled back, and took in a deep breath. It felt good he wasn’t alone. As he walked past the boarded up homes, he could already feel the anxiety brimming up in his chest, could feel the eyes of the citizens of Oak County, gazing at him with their untrusting, nervous eyes . . .