Renegade Rupture (26 page)

“Well, for now, I’m wheeling you back home,” Shaved said.

“But,” Dave started.

“Still, that was so awesome! Making that guy’s head explode like that, BOOM! All over the place, so awesome . . .” Gisbo said.

“Hey, you know . . .” Dave said, raising up his hands.

“We’ll see you later, Gisbo,” Shaved said as he wheeled his father away in the wheelchair that doubled as a fruit cart some days.

“Where’d your party go?” Kennis asked, arriving in her apron with two more beers.

“Gone, I guess,” Gisbo said.

“Well, in five minutes, I’ll join you, ok?” Kennis said. “Let me just check out. I’ll leave these here.”

Kennis planted a kiss on Gisbo’s forehead as he erupted in a furious blush. He figured he should be used to such things by now, but every kiss felt like the first. Better yet, they seemed to practically kill the rising Drakeness within him. He watched Kennis return to the shack and marveled again at the way she moved, the way she walked, the way her scent carried through the air, and all the eyes that turned to watch her go. She noticed not a one, only his, as she walked back out with a huge smile, showing her dimples. She sat across from him, washing him with her peace, pleasure, and comfort, and that’s when it hit him. He thought of life without her, and it sent a reverberating dread through his bones. He quickly dismissed the thought.

They spent the night talking, lost in each other’s gaze. As far as they were concerned, no one else was around as they grew louder and louder with each drink, talking about the one thing they had in common: their love of stories. They talked of the fairy tales of their youths, of various authors and how their stories inspired, entertained, and brought them out of dark places.

They talked ‘til they could talk no more, until their throats were dry and their drinks were gone and their faces hurt from smiling so much. Then, like all lovers do, they continued their conversation, silently, at Kennis’s tree house while Niffin was away. They rolled about the floor, pushed one another across the kitchen, and finished, exhausted and embraced in one another’s arms. The stars and moon twinkled in the skylight above, the only witness and maybe, the cause of their love.

They both blamed it on the moon, on the stars, and the beauty of the universe, whose beauty, as far as Gisbo was concerned, was wrapped in one delicate package. The package had a name, beauty had a name, and to Gisbo, her name was Kennis Flora.

Love, like the Drakeness, had infiltrated Gisbo’s being, but unlike the Drakeness, he embraced it. As he did, with Kennis wrapped in his arms, he vowed he would never let go. Before Kennis, he believed the moon was the most peaceful, beautiful thing, but staring at the moon reflecting off of Kennis’s blue eyes, an appreciable, awe-striking shiver swept through his core, vibrating in the deepest of places.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Gisbo said.

“That’s a first,” Kennis said.

“Hey . . . none of that,” Gisbo said, he then noticed something dangling around her neck, a red, glinting ring.

“What’s this?” Gisbo asked.

“A Flarian ring,” Kennis said. Gisbo looked confused.

“But, you’re an Aquarian,” Gisbo said.

“Yeah, so?” Kennis asked.

“Well, why do you have it?” Gisbo asked.

“It was my mother’s. She, she was a Flarian and she, married an Aquarian. This ring, it was hers. She always told me that when a Flarian and an Aquarian meet, if they fall in love, then it’s always, meant to be, forever. They balance one another perfectly and together, they both give light and life to the world around them,” Kennis said. “My mom, my mom said for me to hold ontot his, give it to someone I plan on spending the rest of my life with, I know, I know it’s silly.”

Gisbo put on a look of horror.

“I don’t mean you! Jeesh! I was just telling you what it meant! We’ve only been dating a few weeks . . . every day . . . you asked, was all! I was just, just,” Kennis started, and realized Gisbo was laughing. She hit him playfully.

“You’re such a jerk,” Kennis said.

“You like jerks apparently, you’re still here,” Gisbo said.

“So, what were you thinking about?” Kennis asked.

“Nothing, I just, so I’ve been thinking. After this tournament is over, and the Strife’s are stopped, for good, and I finish up some loose ends of my own, I’m thinking, I’m thinking that I’ve gotten all I wanted from being a Renegade. My dreams, they’re done here I think. I, I think it’s time to find some new ones . . . with you,” Gisbo said.

“What?” Kennis asked, her eyes getting big.

“I love you, Kennis.” Gisbo said.

The words fell out of his mouth so naturally as their eyes reflected off one another and Kennis let go of his hands, and said nothing.

“Kennis, I’m sorry, I don’t know, don’t know where that came from,” Gisbo said. “I’ve never said anything like that, to anyone, and it just, it came so easy and I . . .”

He then felt her hand drift behind his head and felt her strong, yet delicate fingers wrap around his hair and pull his head close where her lips waited. They kissed long, pressing harshly into one another. Upon release, with both out of breath, she stared at him.

“I love you too,” Kennis said.

“This is, I’ve never felt this way, about anyone . . . and, I know, I know it’s moving so fast, but,” Gisbo said.

“But you don’t care?” Kennis asked.

“Yeah,” Gisbo said. Kennis smiled.

“Niether do I,” Kennis said.

Only after the moon set completely and the sun rose did the two young lovers fall asleep. Elsewhere, two others, trying to re-kindle a love lost, slept apart, not touching, staring up at the same moon that ignited Gisbo and Kennis.

Nina, aloud, in the dark, asked the moon why she felt so alone.

“Whew! Look at you! If those ain’t hickies, then you got a bad case of bed bugs!” Knob said. “Walk of shame, brotha! Walk of shame. Put ‘er there!”

Gisbo only stared, shaking his head as he fixed his bandana and straightened out his clothes.

“Why the hell am I always running into you out here?” Gisbo asked.

“Well, this time, I was sent to find you,” Knob said.

“Playing errand boy for Narroway?” Gisbo asked.

“Hey! I’m his intern! Remember? Anyway, Gisbo, he’s offering to train you personally for this upcoming bout! He sees great stuff in you for the Flarian event,” Knob said. A strong feeling of mistrust broke through Gisbo as he thought about their last conversation.

He doesn’t think you can beat Ranto,
the voice said.

“He doesn’t think I can beat Ranto on my own steam?” Gisbo asked.

“Whoa, nobody said that! He just wants to help you,” Knob said.

More like keep an eye on you,
the voice said.

“You mean more like keep an eye on me! What? He’s scared that I’m going to beat the ever-living piss out of his son? Damn right he should be scared! No, I’m training myself, my way, alone. Tell him thanks, but no, thanks,” Gisbo said.

“You’re really going to turn down an offer from Narroway?” Knob asked, bewildered. “Gisbo, this is Ranto we’re talking about! He’s, like…”

“He’s like what? You don’t think I can win either? You know what? Screw you and screw Narroway!” Gisbo said, feeling anger rise in his chest, grabbing at all his insecurities as if starved. “You just tell Narroway that should Ranto show up, he’s mine, like he promised. This has been a long time coming, and for what he did to Niffin . . .”

“What? Wait, what he’d do to Niffin?” Knob asked.

An image floated into Gisbo’s head, so clear Knob disappeared altogether. Black tendrils wrapped around the vision. The Drakeness showed him Ranto climbing the stairs of Niffin and Kennis’s tree house. Gisbo saw him open the unlocked door, tread the grounds where his love, and his now good friend, slept; he saw Ranto look down at the sleeping Kimjow, who awoke at his presence. Gisbo saw the dog look up with a happy face, completely trusting of this new visitor. His tail wagging. He saw Ranto’s massive hands reach down around the dog’s neck and . . .

“GRAH!” Gisbo screamed as he threw out a punch that hit Knob square in the forehead. Knob fell backwards, seeing stars.

“What the? Damn it, Gisbo! What the hell, man! What the . . .” Knob started, but Gisbo had already taken off. Knob took two woozy steps and fell back to the ground.

“Jeesh, what’s his problem? Is it something I . . . . whoa,” Knob said again, falling and seeing his vision fade as he collapsed to the ground, his brain bleeding.

Gisbo ran back to his tree house, feeling an overwhelming rage like no other. He felt as if he may burst from all the pent up pressure. His heart hammered in his chest, as if seeking to break free. His head pounded and tinges of red floated before his vision as images of not only Ranto, but Thomson and Malik seemingly all intertwined into a snarling green monster that clawed at his brain.

In desperation, Gisbo grabbed the nearest tree and slammed his forehead into it as hard as he could, causing white flashes and fierce pain.

“What’s wrong with me . . . WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME!? MAKE THIS STOP!” Gisbo felt his knees buckle as he fell upon them and screamed aloud, his voice startling a group of sleeping birds. He spied the moss covered rock before him. Without hesitation, he slammed his forehead repeatedly down as if bowing to a master, striking his forehead until his bandana tore, and the dripping Drakeness mark intertwined with his blood. He struck his forehead until his vision faded and he fell into darkness, shouting Fao’s name, but Fao did not come.

Something else did . . .

“I see you well, Gisbo Falcon. It’s about time we met, face to face. The rupture comes, and you, you are not prepared,”
a voice said.

“Cripes, another one? Who the hell are you?” Gisbo asked.

“You’ve already heard my name, spoken within the Flarian deserts. When I come, I come not for the tournament, but for you,”
the voice said.
“We will meet before the rupture, and with it, comes death.”

The darkness went away, and Gisbo was blessed with a recharging sleep that he so desperately needed.

Upon waking, the sun was setting. No more voices haunted him. Gisbo felt three fresh scars on his forehead and spied his bandana laying on the ground. Drakeness dripped upon the rock, sizzling, then evaporating. Gisbo quickly tied the bandana up and returned to his empty dwelling. He dressed in lighter, training clothes, grabbed a gallon of water, and made his way out to the front porch. He stared into the setting sun and closed his eyes, seeing red light dance behind his eyelids as he focused all his pain, all his misery, all his passion, all his strength onto one specific point. He stood there until the image in his head was as clear as the rising moon. It wasn’t just an image, but his target, his absolute focus for this entire week.

The face of Ranto Narroway, murderer, cousin, Renegade traitor.

“He’s training like a demon out there, I wouldn’t interrupt him. He hasn’t stopped all week. I don’t think he’s even been sleeping,” Rolce said as he stared out across the porch at Gisbo doing inverted pushups, leaning his feet up against a tree. Falcon watched him as well, arms folded.

“I suppose you haven’t heard the news about Knob?” Falcon asked.

“Knob? What about him?” Rolce asked.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way,” Falcon said as he descended the stairs and made his way towards his son. The ground around Gisbo was no longer grassy. Gisbo had scuffed it up into a six by six dirt pile. The putrid smell of sweat and blood wafted into Falcon’s nostrils before he was within earshot of Gisbo.

Falcon stood behind him. His boy didn’t notice his own father as he was lost in his focus and fury. Normally a father would be proud at such dedication, but Gisbo’s eyes were bloodshot, beyond hateful, with a glint of mad obsession. Down and down Gisbo went, doing pushups from a handstand position, one after the other as sweat poured down across his eyes, stinging them, making them even more red. Gisbo only counted, suppressing the pain, each rising number representing more power.

“One hundred three, one hundred four, one hundred five,” Gisbo said, focusing on the numbers. He was in his own world, meditating on the fight with Ranto, every punch, every scenario, going through every option within his imagination. Finally, the pain was too much to bear. It infiltrated his brain as he felt muscles tear from strenuous use, felt the Drakeness explode out of his forehead and overflow his bandana. His arms gave way like two wobbly saplings as his tendons blew out, felling him face first to the ground and out of his concentration.

When Gisbo looked up, his father was helping him to his feet as the Drakeness took over and healed his battered arms, releasing the intoxicating, surreal feeling that dwarfed the best of orgasms. What scared his father the most was as this happened, Gisbo smiled.

“We need to talk,” Falcon said.

“Later. I’m training,” Gisbo said, shaking off Falcon’s grasp. Refreshed, he plopped down upon the ground, hugging the tree backwards, and began doing inverted leg raises. Gisbo felt an object smack across his mid-section. He stopped, grabbed it, and raised it up curiously.