Renegade Reborn (62 page)

Breathing hard now, trying to catch his breath, Malik was able to rise back up to his feet, as he scanned the sky for Gisbo who didn’t bother to make himself scarce for a stealthy, counter attack. Instead, he brought the fire . . .

Malik had time to blink, before the giant, blue white fireball was upon him, but Malik was older, wiser, more experienced than his attacker. He did not panic, only acted, as he knocked the fireball aside with his Dragon energy, up and over the north side of the wall where it exploded harmlessly. His attention left Gisbo for only a moment to defend himself, but in that moment, much had happened. Now, dozens more fireballs were on the way, coming straight for him in groupings of two or three at a time. Malik did all he could to deflect and dodge most, but not all of them, as he took a shot to the right side of his body, which singed his white, bloody robe. Cursing at the pain, Malik curled both his biceps, bent into himself, powered up, and then whipped his arms wide, exploding his Dragon fire outward, catching the rest of the blasts, and canceling out the bombarding strikes.

Breathing hard, his head swimming, Malik fell to one knee, snapped his focus to the sky, and his heart skipped. Gisbo was no longer there. Malik leapt to his feet now, looking all about, trying to feel him out, and felt nothing. It was as if he had literally vanished.

“Where are you . . .” Malik muttered himself, his head snapping in all directions.

“Boo,” Gisbo whispered in Malik’s right ear. Malik spun about and was met with a flying knee right to the center of his face. The blunt force trauma caused his whole vision to go white and sent his body flying through the air again. Gisbo followed, hitting him over and over again with punishing combinations, sending him a bit further along through the air with each strike toward the west wall. Malik, seeing the wall coming, tried desperately through warped vision for any type of pattern, any opening for a counter attack, anything to regain control, but it seemed Gisbo had thought of everything, seemed to switch and fall seamlessly into a variety of styles making every hit untraceable, unpredictable.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Malik knew he had mere seconds before his head went through the wall, and in his weakened state, it could end his consciousness. To confirm his thoughts, Gisbo grabbed the sides of his head, holding him firm, ready to help along the process . . .

“NO! Not, like, this!” Malik screamed, and with a burst of his remaining power, he shot them both straight up into the air with a burst of turquoise light, so bright, those watching had to shield their eyes. Together they shot up into the air with Malik finally gaining the leverage he needed. Just inches from the wall, Malik grabbed Gisbo’s head, and with much struggle, managed to plow his face into the wall, grinding it upward.

Gisbo felt as if he had just put his face into a cheese grater. His vision turned into sparkly blue, green, and purple popping lights, blinding him, as the feeling of sharp edges and protrusions of uneven rocks, and rubble pressed into the skin of his face, until finally, he was free from the wall, only to have Malik grab him by the hair, spin about, and spike him downward.

As Gisbo fell back down toward the earth, Malik pursued, landing several solid hits to his battered face along the way, making his return trip to the ground quicker. Every hit Gisbo took felt as if his field of vision was being wiped away by a scraper, turning the top right portion of his vision, then the middle, to blackness. All he could see now was Malik, rushing toward him, hitting him, then shooting back away, only to rush forward to do it again, and again . . .

The ground was coming fast now, and Gisbo knew he had only one chance to regain consciousness . . . he couldn’t use his Phoenix power to heal himself, he needed it to maintain an equal energy wave length in order to do damage to Malik, so instead, he did the only thing possible. He called upon the Drakeness, pushed it, shot it up into his brain, and like gasoline to a fire, his mind exploded with clarity, bringing back his vision, and a renewed stamina, and at the last moment, Gisbo pushed his Phoenix energy down to slow his fall, fighting against gravity and velocity, and won. Now, rather than smash into the ground, Gisbo managed to plant one leg as it fought against gravity, and won, as Gisbo, rather than smash into the ground, managed to land on his feet, then, like a frog, jumped back up to meet the pursuing Malik with a spinning roundhouse kick.

The Goat Man’s eyes went wide in surprise, but his instinct kicked in, as he managed to duck under Gisbo’s wild kick. Gisbo’s kick however, in a windstorm of energy, blew into several onlookers, knocking them over and tumbling them about like leaves in the breeze. Gisbo cursed at the miss, and that’s when Malik followed up his dodge with a huge uppercut that sent Gisbo flying back up into the air, but this time, Malik did not pursue. The Man-Dragon fell to one knee, breathing hard, as Gisbo righted himself in the air, flapping his wings to keep himself afloat, and let his body relax as he too desperately tried to catch his breath, and let the Drakeness heal his tattered face that greatly resembled the top of a pizza with the cheese melted to one side.

“Hitting you is like hitting a belt sander . . .” Malik said, breathing hard. “We both know, it’s not going to come down to a matter of strength, or skill between us, but who can take the most punishment. What do you say we just cut to the chase?”

Gisbo sucked up his breath, cracked his neck and knuckles, then with a look in his eyes as alive as when he first began, he flew at his cousin headfirst, smiling like a maniac.

“BRING IT, BITCH!” Gisbo screamed.

Malik leapt to meet him, and the two, if they weren’t fighting with their heads before, proved how much they actually were. Now there were no counters, no dodging, no strategy. There was only straight up giving and taking punishment. The two of them, fists clenched, literally took turns striking one another’s heads and faces, and with each strike, their fists grew faster, and faster, until the speed of their fists began to rub against the friction in the air, bursting their fists into orange fire, as their faces exploded with blood, and their necks swiveled dangerously and unnaturally.

“My word . . .” Anaka said, raising a hand over her mouth.

“This is, this is . . .” Grandfield started, at a loss for words.

“How? How can they take so much pain!?” Glinda asked.

“The Drakeness is maintaining their consciousness and healing their wounds, but only to a point . . .” Jackobi said.

“To a point?” Glinda asked, turning.

“More like a limit he means. I don’t know where they’re finding the stamina for this. They should be dead, or at least brain damaged.” Rolce said, wincing with every strike.

“You worried?” Jackobi asked.

“With a head like, Gisbo’s?” Rolce asked. He then shook his head. “No way. Malik is finished . . .”

Upon Rolce’s words, the Man-Phoenix and Man-Dragon’s punches began slowing, and slowing, and as they slowed, they floated back toward the ground, their wings disintegrating into particles, melting away until they were both standing on the ground, barely standing, their arms hanging by their sides as if they weighed hundreds of pounds. Their faces, looking like hamburger meat, swollen, red, and purple, nearly unrecognizable, began hissing as steam rose from the pores, healing up cuts that would become permanent scars and serve as souvenirs for one of the most epic battles in Thera’s history.

Gisbo moved first and with his arms flailing behind him, he ran at Malik snapping his head back, then forward into a wicked head-butt, striking Malik right in his temple. Cheers erupted from behind them as Malik stumbled back, nearly losing his footing, then, shook it off, and charged right at Gisbo with a head-butt of his own, hitting Gisbo on the bridge of his nose. Gisbo fell down to one knee, shook his head from side to side, then, pumped his leg muscles, and jumped up like a cat, hitting Malik beneath his chin with the top, thick part of his skull.

Malik fell to the ground in a roll, but refused to stay down as he rode the momentum and landed, getting up on one knee. The two stared at one another now, faces bleeding, and hissing as the Drakeness healing abilities were pushed to the limit, healing much slower than before. They had no need to speak to one another. Their eyes said it all. Together, they rose back up to their feet, their knees wobbling, shaking, threatening to buckle, but they fought it, and in unison, ran at each other, ready to pour all they were, and all they were going to be into one, final blow. Like two male rams, they flew at one another in a straight line, The Dragon on one side, the Phoenix on the other, both screaming, leaving all their pain, all their sorrow, all their grievances, on the battlefield, and then, their heads connected, forehead against forehead in two, dual, sickening strikes. The onlookers held their breath, as the two separated, stumbled about, looking like two drunks at last call. They swayed and swayed, and then, it finally happened . . .

Malik Strife fell, and Gisbo Falcon stood tall.

Cheers erupted so loud, Gisbo’s ears began to ring as he looked down at his cousin, face in the dirt, down, but still breathing, still alive. With much effort, he rose his face up. His left eye, and the corner of his mouth twitching.

“You . . . you should kill me . . .” Malik stammered, as he hacked up a mix of blood, and blackness upon the ground.

“I would, if I could . . .” Gisbo said, suddenly dropping to one knee as he threw up as well. The two stared at one another now, blood drying on the corners of their mouths, heaving, as the Drakeness worked overtime to heal them. Malik was the first to find his feet, and stand. He looked down at Gisbo, with an unsettling smile.

“You’re out of essence . . .” Malik said. Gisbo, with a grunt, tried to force himself back up to his feet, but couldn’t move.

“So are you.” Gisbo snapped. At this, Malik’s grin grew wider.

“Am I? I can admit, you have more ferocity, and a thicker skull, but when it comes to our power, our stamina? Oh, dear cousin, we couldn’t be more different . . .” Malik said, as he raised up his hand before his face, staring at it, a hungry gleam in his eye.

Gisbo’s eyebrow raised. Everything in him screamed for him to move, to rush at Malik, end his life, but he couldn’t move, not until the Drakeness finished healing him.

“You say I’m out of essence? That’s the difference between our powers, cousin. Yours, is a partnership, mine? It’s a surrender, a sacrifice. Your blood, it has the Drakeness flowing through. It serves its purpose, but, it is not pure. My blood however . . .” Malik started, when suddenly, like an animal biting into a fresh, hot kill, Malik bit straight into his wrist, rending open his veins with his teeth, and began sucking and sucking until his mouth filled, then overflowed with his own black blood, dripping down onto his clothes, and upon the ground.

Gisbo said nothing, only looked on, shocked and disgusted, as Malik swallowed, wiped his mouth, and watched as his opened wrist began to close back up, and heal.

“Already the Dragon’s power is replacing my sudden loss of blood, blood that is filled, FILLED, with reserved Dragon essence! Do you understand? Do you get it now?” Malik said, as his wrist finished healing, and the hot, spilled blood on his clothes and the ground began to glow a fierce, turquoise green, and impossibly, Malik’s Dragon essence returned to him and his eyes burst into red fire. “Your power is limited, where mine? Mine is infinite like Time itself! You. Can’t. Win!”

Gisbo tried standing, but the Drakeness was moving slower in the healing process. The damage he had taken was far too great, and the Drakeness flowing through him, unlike Malik’s, wasn’t as pure. Malik, eyes looking like a wolf who just found a wounded rabbit to feed upon, now stood over him.

“I’ve waited for this moment for so, so long . . .” Malik said, as he reached out, and lifted Gisbo up by his throat, high into the air. He then took in a deep breath, admiring Gisbo’s beaten, still slowly healing face.

“I’ve seen this moment in my dreams, the moment where, despite your best effort, I beat and break the man who would rather pour out his life for others, rather than himself . . .” Malik said. Gisbo squinted at this. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Everyone, but you it seems, knows how sensitive, caring, and big your heart is. Sure, it’s a little misguided sometimes. You pick and choose who you care about, you aren’t the neutral good you should be, you say things you don’t mean, drink like a fish, but, ever wonder why? Sure, I helped, the rupture gave you reason, along with the Drakeness, but the real reason you do what you do, is to get to a state of unfeeling in order to give your big tender heart a break. But it doesn’t last. Does it? Hearts such as yours are so rare, shine so brightly, and that’s the tragedy of it all. People like you, they get in the way of people like me, and become targets . . . targets, that need putting down . . .

Those things I told you earlier, all I was trying to do was deny you access to your power, and make my revenge easier, more pleasurable, and it worked, to a point, but this, this was better. We met as equals, you threw all you had at me, and still, it wasn’t enough. What started with your mother, now, ends with you. I wonder if you’ll scream, and beg as much as she did . . .” Malik said, licking his dry lips.

Gisbo thrashed and struggled within Malik’s grip, screaming like a rabid fox with a foot caught in a trap.

“Stop struggling, stop screaming . . .” Malik said, as he reached down, and pulled up a Tanto. It flashed in the moonlight, and to his horror, Gisbo saw dried blood upon it, the blood, of his mother.