by J.C. Fiske
Chapter 4: Dreams Anew
A Renegade!!?? That’s . . . that’s . . . Gisbo was in complete shock. He knew the bandana well. The vivid artist’s renditions from his books came flooding back to him as Falcon ripped away the rest of his scrubby, stinky cloak to reveal the full uniform. The color scheme made it look as if the entire suit glowed like the vivid blue flames at the heart of a fire. Everything was present: the flowing blue cape with black and white jagged edges; the loose, sleeveless, jump-suit-like uniform; the tight black leather bracings around the chest, waist and legs with lighter blue trimmings.
Almost as impressive as the uniform’s design were the night black tattoos that streamed down Falcon’s entire left arm, where a scabbard, tied directly to his hip, pointed down behind him. The sword’s handle was topped with a brilliant red stone that glittered like a sunrise.
The citizens of Oak County stood in awe at this revelation, not knowing whether it was the real thing or an insane imposter who stood before the Elekai’ Elite now. But then again, the man had sent hefty Captain Cannon flying from his pedestal . . . no mean feat. All gazes shifted from the blue clad warrior to the Elekai’ Elite, each with the same question emblazoned across their faces that read, What are you gonna do now? Ricard, not to be outdone, quickly drew attention back to himself.
“To think you a mere janitor was a mistake, but to think that a Renegade was hidden under that obscene garb? Can it be?” Ricard said, as if he were talking to himself. Scarrr and Cannon remained speechless as they began moving behind their leader with caution, awaiting orders.Gisbo sat still, not wanting to move with Ricard's sword still just a swing away.
“I hate to be a bother, but you must understand . . . I still have much sweeping to do and, if you would be so obliged, I would love to do it with the three of you.” Falcon paused to let his statement sink in, before continuing. “Now, we Renegades have always been the more battle battle, less talky-talky type. So let’s get to the part where I climactically defeat you all and am on my way with the boy intact,” Falcon said, folding his arms impatiently.
Captain Ricard stood for a moment and pondered a question that had long troubled him. In his own way, he had surpassed his own father’s legacy, no easy feat, but now a new possibility occurred to him. The only thing to rival his accomplishments now was distant memory of the Renegades, the mythic elite of old. Supposed elite, Ricard thought. Should he defeat one now, the question would be settled once and for all. He, General Ricard, would be known country wide as the ultimate warrior and the trouncer of Renegades. He even had an entire crowd to witness it.
It’s the chance of a lifetime, Ricard thought. He had made his decision. Why end things so anticlimactically by sending all his guards to attack one man? He had the people’s eye; why not make things interesting? Ever since the Flarians left, life had been so awfully boring anyway.
“Guards, restrain the boy,” Ricard ordered. The guards obeyed and dragged Gisbo a safe distance away.
“Your offer is indeed . . . intriguing, Falcon. However, I would need to see for myself that you are worth my worth. Meet my subordinates, Cannon and Scarrr,” Ricard said.
“We’ve met,” Falcon growled. Cannon and Scarrr suddenly looked at one another.
“Together they do not equal my true strength. Fight them both, defeat them, and you will be rewarded by fighting me as . . .”
“Foolish TURKEY! You are not a prize to be won! You honestly think yourself able to withstand the fury of a Renegade Berserker? Hah! You turkey!” Falcon barked. Ricard was left speechless. “However, I do love me a fight, challenging or not. Send me your worthless peons but, I will say, I cannot guarantee their safety. Upon facing me, they may never fight again,” Falcon warned, this time his tone as mild as if he were discussing the weather. Ricard felt as if he were back in his young days as a soldier and a drill sergeant had just reprimanded him.
Did he honestly just call me . . . a turkey? Not just a turkey, but a FOOLISH TURKEY? Less talky-talky, huh? For someone who does not like to talk, he doesn’t seem to shut up! Ricard gathered his thoughts.
“CANNON! SCARRR! HAVE AT HIM!” Ricard screamed, thrusting his sword in Falcon's direction.
Ricard stepped off the wooden staging and made his way over to the guards in charge of Gisbo. He stood with his arms at ease as his men began to prepare for battle. The townsfolk and children all backed away to a safe distance, eyes wide, afraid to blink lest they miss something. The children were especially excited, for this would be their first time witnessing a real Elekai’ battle! Not only that, but if the man’s word was true, they were about to see a long lost Renegade fight before their very eyes!
General Ricard smiled with confidence once again as he saw his two companions ready themselves. Their teamwork was intrinsic and their powers unrivaled. In his mind, Falcon was the one unqualified for this bout.
Much has changed since the days of the Renegade. These two will annihilate this poor Flarian, Renegade or not, Ricard thought to himself.
Cannon and Scarrr looked across at their opposition. They pulled their respective weapons from their sheaths and, in traditional Elekai’ Elite fashion, began spinning their weapons ostentatiously, stepping forward and backward and finishing their dance with a synchronized spin, standing in each other's original position with knees bent and weapons flourished overhead. A quick burst of applause rang out causing Cannon to beam in satisfaction. It was good to hear fanfare after his embarrassing incident and it had been an excellent display of handiwork and footwork, after all. He and Scarrr awaited their opponent’s next move as Falcon continued to stand, indifferent, with arms folded.
After a few moments passed, Falcon stretched, yawned and scratched his rear end. Cannon and Scarrr were outraged by such disrespect, but remained calm. It was now Falcon’s turn to draw. In a humble gesture, the Renegade drew his sword from his sheath with a quick SHWING noise and pointed it towards his opponents, holding the same careless stance.
Cannon and Scarrr glanced at each other and nodded. It was time to release their elemental essence. They gripped their weapon handles and the stones in their hilts began to glow brilliantly, Scarrr’s a transparent yellow and Cannon’s an emerald green. Both weapons began to emit a constant whining noise as first the handle, then the entire weapon matched their stone's colorful glow before erupting into powerful, pulsating beams of light.
Cannon’s seemed to spark and drip with raw green energy. The veins in his arms and face glowed the same hue as the power flooded through his body. Scarrr’s burst forth in a perfectly straight beam that flashed with a deadly precision. His veins glowed a vibrant yellow, equally distributed throughout his body.
With a unified battle cry, Cannon and Scarrr unleashed a surge of energy, causing a flash of combined aura so powerful that the wooden planks and floorboards on the staging began to crack beneath their feet, sending splinters flying through the air. Falcon’s cape and bandana tails ruffled behind him from the sheer display of their power. The Renegade betrayed an expression of profound fear as he lifted his forearm over his eyes to shield them.
This ever-so-serious Scarrr absolutely flushed to see the Renegade’s fear. However, their excitement quickly faded. Falcon suddenly dropped his forearm and laughed heartily to himself. They couldn’t hear him through their weapons constant whining, but the body language was enough. Falcon finished his laughter and adapted the same gaze he had shot at Ricard earlier. The two Elekai’ Elite members both felt their neck hair rise as the Renegade raised his blade, slowly, and pointed the tip to the sky. The red jewel at the end of the handle glowed first. It was entrancing, almost exotic to see the color red in their vicinity once more. Falcon’s veins emitted a glow that made it seem like a lava flow had replaced his blood stream. And then, the explosion hit.
ROARRROOOSH!!! In an instant, Falcon’s essence was unleashed. It sounded like a bomb going off. The blast of fiery energy was so powerful it split the entire stage platform in two, sending the two members of the E
lekai’ Elite tumbling off. Falcon’s roaring blade had also completely silenced the dull, whining noise of Cannon and Scarrr’s. If one closed their eyes and listened, they might have guessed two mosquitos were fighting a lion. Falcon calmly walked down the steps and onto the castle grounds toward Cannon and Scarrr. Both of them covered their eyes from the intense heat and they were pushed back from their standing positions as if their feet were on ice skates due to the sheer force of Falcon’s power..
After much effort, Cannon and Scarrr managed to regain their ground. They had no other option but to resort to their most powerful abilities and fast. They both spread out to the left and the right of the Renegade. Cannon called upon his innate powers as stones and pebbles began to fly from the ground and cling to him like magnets.
Scarrr turned his weapon sideways and activated his air suppression, creating the appearance of teleporting back and forth as he sprinted towards Falcon. Cannon sprinted on as well, activating another ability that increased the size of his body to towering heights. Cannon now looked like a giant rock monster with green moss growing over every nook and cranny. Scarrr attacked from the left as Cannon stormed in from the right, just a breaths pace behind Scarrr.
Ricard stood ever so still as he watched the green and yellow glow about to make contact with the red one. Falcon’s immense elemental roar may have impressed everyone else, but they were oblivious to the giant smile plastered on the general’s face. To all appearances, Cannon and Scarrr weren’t messing around either, skipping over their warm up to their most powerful attack. They never even tried it on me for the sheer danger of it; I doubt I would come out of this unscathed. Let’s see how the Renegade fares, Ricard thought.
Gisbo watched with intense interest. He thought meeting the Elekai' Elite was the highlight of his life, but it had just taken a quick backseat to what was going on in front of him. His imagination of what an Elekai’ battle would be like was shattered. Nothing could have prepared him for the amazing display of unleashed essence. No, nothing could prepare him for the essence that Falcon, the Renegade was emitting. Was this the true power of a Renegade? Could he be capable of such force himself? So many questions, but Gisbo would have to wait for now, but he didn’t mind. He was fully entranced by the show before him. The many blows that his noggin had taken in the past day seemed like nothing. His fear of death was gone almost as quickly as it had come. Everything felt like it was going to be all right, knowing that Falcon, the Renegade, was on his side.
Falcon’s essence seemed to be enveloping his Elekai’ Elite opponents as they neared striking distance. Scarrr flashed a false forward swing with his blade, but before the frontal image of himself even dissipated, he was behind Falcon, ready to land a killing blow.
Cannon, with his stone like arm, now close to the size of an oak tree, reeled back and poised a giant, boulder-like fist just above Falcon’s head. Before impact, everyone, including the two strikers, saw Falcon still standing put, allowing triumphant smiles to stretch across the faces of Scarrr and Cannon.
Scarrr struck first, so as not to be smashed by Cannon’s falling blow. Scarrr’s eyes lit up as he felt his blade pass right through Falcon’s neck, but . . . it kept going, too quickly. Before he could even comprehend it, Scarrr had passed through Falcon’s body as if it were made of a red mist. At first, Scarrr felt nothing. All he heard was Cannon’s crashing blow behind him that sent grass clods and dirt showering over him. Suddenly, the normally quiet Scarrr screamed! His skin began to crackle and turn black as if it absorbed something, and then burst into flames. Scarrr ran like a rampaging bull straight toward the castle’s gushing water fountain. He jumped in, submerging himself in the cold water and sending up plumes of steam, but the pain was too much. Scarrr passed out, convulsing and shaking like a fish out of water before he lay still. Guards rushed to his aid and later, looking in a mirror, Scarrr would realize that he had all the more reason to wear his helmet.
Cannon’s stone-like form spun around to see the now grotesque form of his comrade being dragged out of the fountain. He lifted his boulder-like fist from the point of impact, realizing too late that there was nothing there but a crater without any human remains. It was then he felt an immense pain in his right shoulder. It was now Cannon’s turn to scream, but instead it came out sounding like a roar, a roar that competed with Falcon’s fully powered blade. Cannon stared down at his body in horror as red, vein-like crackles began to spread across his chest and move downward, filling every nook and cranny of his rock body with a molten, lava-like substance. Seconds later, the rocks blew apart one by one like a series of fireworks. With every explosion, Cannon’s body began shrinking back to its normal size, save for his arm, which stayed the same. As he shrunk, Falcon revealed himself behind Cannon’s massive shoulder. He was perched on it like a blue parrot. Cannon stumbled all about like a drunkard. His gigantic arm was the only thing that kept him standing. His body looked to be covered in puss-filled boils where the rocks used to be. Falcon then forcibly ripped his blade free of Cannon’s gigantic arm and the big man squealed like a pig. Falcon walked around to face the short man who now dragged an arm the size of a small oak tree.
“Cannon the Cruel, as you were once known, I have severed your shoulder tendons. For as long as you live, you will be forced to carry these unsightly scars and lug this gigantic arm as payment for the many Flarians crushed beneath it unfairly. You will live in dire pain and anguish for the rest of your days. Do not ponder even once if I have granted the two of you mercy,” Falcon said, glancing over at the defeated Scarrr. “Living is the hard part, death is easy,” Falcon finished.
The butt of Falcon's sword handle connected with the back of Cannon’s head, ending the poor man’s suffering for the time being. Wasting no time, Falcon marched straight up to Ricard, ever so calm. The general was shocked beyond belief, but he wasn’t about to allow himself to show it. He had underestimated Falcon’s abilities, sure, but he had never expected to see his men disposed of so easily and so . . . violently.
So, the Renegades survive . . . Ricard thought. This thought, which initially excited him, now terrified him. What would the people think now? The Elekai' Elite were the pinnacle of perfection that society looked up and aspired to.
Ricard began weighing what few options remained to him. Should this Renegade defeat him, his very authority would be called into question. He would be doubted among the people and, most importantly, Warlord Karm. He had to take initiative to preserve the remaining attention he had. He was General Ricard after all. He still had favor with the people. He would defeat this lone Renegade and finalize his place in history.
Both men stood a few feet apart from each other, scrutinizing the other's movements with caution. Ricard was in no mood for talk. Action was called for, but something needed to be said regardless. He had to maintain his air of control in front of his people. The general unsheathed his fencer-like sword and in seconds, he ignited it into a roaring crystal blue color, rivaling the noise Falcon’s blade had emitted earlier. Falcon replied by igniting his own blade once again and awaiting his opponent’s action. This time his red essence did not overtake his foe’s. The energies collided as if they were doing battle on their own. They swirled and wafted through the air and upon contact with each other, thick steam rose to the sky as water mixed with fire. Much to Falcon's surprise, their energies were equal in strength. Falcon disposed of his earlier lackluster stance and adapted a defensive position with his sword pointed straight forward, ready to parry. Falcon knew Ricard's blade was meant for quick, stabbing thrusts while his was made for wild swinging.
This should prove interesting, Falcon thought to himself, excited. He had not once come across a fencer on the battlefield. Fencing was thought to be an outdated practice as it was not invented to face multiple opponents, leaving the wielder with an obvious weakness out on the battlefield. However, this was no battlefield and a fencer dominated in one-on-one combat. Insofar as weapons were concerned, Ricard held the advanta
ge.
For now . . . Falcon thought.
Ricard watched his opponent take his stance, enjoying the fact that Falcon was taking him seriously. The general then held his sword upward, pointed to the sky. Oddly enough, all of Ricard’s roaring blue essence began to be absorbed back into his sword, making the general’s veins glow even brighter as he compressed the released energy back within himself. Falcon was really surprised by his use of this maneuver. It was known as the compression technique, a Flarian technique, born out of necessity to help control their swirling fire and not harm others. Doing so did have its advantages however. It enhanced all of the users physical attributes, including speed, reflexes and adrenaline production, all at the same time. It also allowed for unwasteful energy consumption, allowing them to stay powered up for longer periods of time. Ricard had indeed done his homework and Falcon couldn’t be more ecstatic as he raised his own blade to the sky and mimicked the maneuver, compressing his own swirling fire back into himself.
“Flarian, I beg of you, do not hold yourself back from me. As a fellow warrior, grant me this small pleasure. The unknown limits of my prowess have been unbearable. I’ve had no one able to test me. Please, throw your all at me. I hold you in utmost respect and simply must uphold the laws of my Warlord and the Freeists. Let bygones be bygones as we do battle, agreed?” Ricard asked, addressing Falcon with respect. Falcon did not smile or show an ounce of humor as he answered the General.
“Do not discuss politics with me. Freeist or Purist, it matters not. I am a Renegade, separated from petty party squabbles and wielder of my own ideals. The values one wishes to uphold and protect determines their role in life, not parties. Let us pour our very beings into this battle, spend ourselves for the glory of our causes and may IAM uphold the victor,” Falcon answered.
In a flash, the two men disappeared from their stationary positions with an air sucking noise, as if they had teleported. People gazed all over, looking for them in surprise until sparks of red and blue flashed across the ground. The air reverberated with loud cracks of ringing steel. Gisbo’s eyes could barely keep up. A smile stretched across Gisbo's face as he witnessed a battle like no other. This talk of Freeists and Purists Gisbo knew nothing about, but the thought didn’t remain long. The two warriors suddenly vanished once more and reappeared halfway across the courtyard. It was here Falcon and Ricard finally slowed, realizing they could not gain openings with quick footwork. They now moved on to true swordplay.
Ricard went on the offensive and pummeled Falcon with quick stabs and thrusts. However, Falcon, in an odd array of wild swings, dodges and feigns, gracefully countered the general for everything he could throw at him and nearly caused Ricard to lose his balance a few times. Gisbo noticed that as far as power and footwork were concerned, they were dead equal. But as far as swordplay was concerned, it was clearly Falcon’s unorthodox style, or lack of style, that held the advantage over the fencer. This was not due to one style being better than the other, but simply because Falcon’s reflexes were in another league.
The Renegade swirled his sword in a figure eight fashion, completing each rotation faster than Ricard could draw back and thrust his sword forward. Ricard understood that Falcon was feeling him out, first for power, then footwork and now handiwork. He knew now where Falcon had the advantage. Because of this, he forced him to switch to the next stage. The historic writings of the Renegades and Flarians made them seem like mindless berserkers. Could the books be wrong? Ricard gritted his teeth as Falcon now held the upper hand and went on the offensive.
What is going on? Ricard thought. The reports never mentioned Flarians or Renegades fighting in this manner. And yet, here one stands with a highly controlled disposition. In a mere thirty seconds he has felt me out and found an advantage! Every strike has rage and power behind it, but . . . it is not mindless, it’s controlled! What is going on?
Essence, footwork, handiwork. These were three requirements for every Elekai’ warrior. But there was one more and Ricard switched to it quickly. It was time to move the focus to technique and here he knew he had the Renegade outclassed. The amount of material exclusively for him, the general, was nearly limitless. When he wasn’t training his body, Ricard devoted hours of his time to technique, studying everything available to him, pulling from various sources and forging his own signature methods.
Ricard managed a quick dodge and then struck out with a wild attack, causing a fierce backlash, which sent both men flying backward in opposite directions. Both fighters landed neatly on their feet and Ricard mentally praised himself. The first part to his strategy had worked. He now had the distance he needed to unleash his first technique. For the first time in decades, Ricard felt unsure of victory. A repressed anxiety surfaced and washed over him. Strangely enough, he loved it. Never had he faced an opponent like Falcon before. The uncertainty made the general feel alive once again, as a true smile of joy stretched across the warrior's face. He gripped his handle a little tighter and called upon the essence needed to unleash his inner powers. As always, he loved the tingling, tickling sensation in his veins as he did so.
Ricard first thrust out a temporary wall of ice, as transparent as glass, to prevent Falcon from interfering with his technique. The Renegade watched with care as Ricard cut a circle in the ground with his sword's tip, surrounding his body. Upon completion of the circle, hot steam shot from the cuts in the ground in a loud hissing noise, surrounding the general in a thick, steaming fog. Falcon and the crowd watched the fog swirl round and round to form eight needle-like shapes in the air. The needles began to swell and form into hefty icicles, all with extremely sharp points at each end. The spear-like tapers began to revolve around Ricard in a tight circle as the wall of ice melted away, replaced by this odd new protection. What was even more eerily mesmerizing was that within the core of each icicle, the same steaming fog substance swirled like tiny caged tornados.
“I have studied the abilities of the Flarian for years, Renegade. Out of all of us, it was you who specialized in the use of heat to torment your foes. You were practically built with the ability to destroy life. It is safe to assume, should one wish to burn their victims, that one would need to acquire fire. We humanoids are so very fragile to heat, after all. Even the metallic armor we wear can be melted into liquid form at the proper temperature. Yes, heat is the universal weakness of life, but who said fire was the only substance to emit it most effectively? The common man realizes that fire, like everything else, can be snuffed out with water - but that is just so boring.
“Some say water gives life, while fire takes it. From this logic, a common belief was formed and the Flarians were banned from the plains of civilization. For every individual Flarian who could control their flame, there were ten more in line who could not and the obvious outcome occurred. However, I think a little differently. I respect the powers of Flarians, even obsessed over them for a time. How suitable they are for war and combat. I wanted the abilities of your people for myself and so, discontent with mere aquatic powers, I did some research and I found out how wrong I was. Nearly the opposite was true, Renegade, as I will now show you and this crowd the fruits of my labor. I’d tell you to prepare yourself, but there is no way you possibly can,” Ricard boasted with a confident smile.
The general raised his sword high in the air and one of the large icicles shot into the sky like a rocket. Falcon followed it a ways with his eyes until it was lost to view. Ricard then pointed his blade forward in Falcon’s direction. SHOOM! The icicle descended, breaking the sound barrier as it shot downward towards Falcon. The Renegade rolled to the right as the large icicle crashed into the ground, breaking into hundreds of tiny shards. It was then Falcon realized his mistake. Ricard was not trying to hit him head on. The general wanted him to dodge. Ricard made his icicles hit at a precise angle. The ice was only a container for the real weapon, the steam inside. The force of the impact shot the steam directly at Falcon. The general even forecasted what side Falcon would roll to. Wa
rlord Karm had chosen his second in command well.
In a last ditch effort, the Renegade twirled his blade like a fan. It deflected most of the substance, but not enough. The steam made contact with Falcon’s fingers and his flesh was permeated. The glands in his skin absorbed the steam like a sponge to water. The pain pulsed through his fingers, forcing him to drop his blade. With the loss of his sword, Falcon lost contact with his elemental power and his veins converted to their normal state. However, Ricard’s attack was not finished yet . . .
The remaining ice shards from the blast began to vibrate and they suddenly shot toward Falcon’s dropped blade, encasing it in an icy shell. Once encased in its icy prison, the frozen blade shot through the air and joined the icicle display hovering around Ricard, replacing the broken piece. Falcon stood powerless while Captain Ricard grinned from ear to ear. He had won and it was about time the Renegade heard an earful about it.
“It’s over, Renegade. I see you are starting to understand what I was speaking of before. Fire may be the supreme element for absolute destruction, but there is a far greater way to dispose of a human. Steam is infinitely more deadly to the skin than just an ordinary dry heat burn. If one accidentally puts his arm into a flame, he has time to pull it out before suffering damage. Steam is another story. Should a quick release of steam grace your flesh, it immediately goes to work, as the skin absorbs it. Enough steam can literally melt the flesh off one’s bones in seconds. I wonder, can an animated skeleton walk? I’ve yet to see. I only know that I have mastered the technique of controlling temperatures according to my will, heating or cooling water molecules to unknown degrees while supernaturally maintaining its form. I can even encase steam within ice, as I have demonstrated. How? Well, I can’t give away all my secrets, now can I?” Ricard said, enjoying himself. He loved the way his voice sounded. He had won and, best of all, he had a crowd of people, his people, here to witness it.
Falcon stood quietly, staring at his weapon floating around Ricard with longing in his eyes. The general’s face flushed with color and pride, knowing that the people would never doubt the strength of the Elekai Elite again.
“Well, Renegade, with your source of power gone and your hands unable to hold a weapon, I grow tired of you. Present and past have collided here today and I now know the question that has been plaguing me for decades. Clearly, you outmatch me in physical combat and essential energies, the Renegade specialties, but your time away has greatly limited your research and mastery of technique. Much has changed since your days in the castle walls and hosts of new abilities have been discovered. Nothing like mine, of course. I do respect you, but you understand that I cannot let you walk away. I must uphold the law and instead of one Flarian dying today, there must now be two. As much as I . . .”
“Foolish squawking turkey . . .” Falcon interrupted with mystifying calm. Ricard's face went white as he watched Falcon raise his right hand upward, showing what appeared to be a ring on his finger containing a familiar red stone in the band. The ring began to glow a bright burning red as elemental essence charged through Falcon’s body.
Ricard’s eyes widened as he glanced down at Falcon’s sword encased in ice and it too began to glow the same fierce red. The ice around it began to crack. The sword itself thrashed and vibrated with red energy. Falcon thrust his ring forward in a tight fist and a red rope of energy shot from the ring and connected itself to the sword's stone hilt like a grappling hook.
What!? No! He was toying with me this whole time? Impossible! I . . . and with that, Ricard thought his last conscious thought for the day. Falcon’s sword ignited fully, exploding like a firebomb. The force sent the general flying through the courtyard like an awkwardly loosed arrow and he slammed hard into the castle wall. The stones cracked all around him from the impact of the general’s strong armor and the remaining ice shards followed him, penetrating deep into every unprotected part of his body, turning Ricard into a human dart board. Ricard then passed out, not from the force of impact or the pain, but from the sight of his own bleeding body.
Falcon looked at his fallen opponent and saluted. He then cleared his throat and walked through the charred grass, retrieved his sword, sheathed it, and calmly strode toward Gisbo humming a little tune. The guards restraining Gisbo quickly let him go and backed up slowly with their hands out in front of them, showing they were not a threat. Falcon nodded and then the guards split like squirrels, rushing to the aid of their desecrated general.
Gisbo rose to his feet, unable to take his eyes off Falcon, unable to believe that it was only yesterday that man stood before him in the rain, wearing his nasty white cloak. And now here he was once more, standing in the sunlight, graced in the attire of a Renegade. It was then a slight breeze came and shuffled his blue cape and bandana tails. Falcon smiled.
“Come, my friend, and make your dreams anew,” Falcon said. With that, he turned and walked straight out of the courtyard, still humming to himself.
Gisbo followed.
