Renegade Reborn

by J. C. Fiske

  Booze, every night, for the past three years, had made it a requirement just for Gisbo’s body to even function properly. Without it, withdrawal set in, and he became prone to shaking, and nausea, but worst of all, the terror of his memories.

  “Damn you all . . .” Gisbo said, his head a chorus of hammer falls, echoing from his off queue heartbeat. Never had he been this long without a drink. With no alcohol to hold the memories back, he would have to close his eyes eventually, and then, they would come rushing at his mind’s eye like a broken floodgate.

  “Please, PLEASE!” Gisbo screamed, biting his tongue by mistake, and filling his mouth with a metallic, spoiled milk taste. It was the taste of blood tainted by Drakeness, a taste he didn’t think he would ever get used to. He couldn’t help it, his body began to convulse again, bursting open his wounds once more.

  “GRAH! Damn, it, why . . . why . . .” Gisbo moaned when suddenly, there was a grating growl from below.

  Gisbo looked down to see two white orbs, pacing around the pit, staring up at him. When Gisbo squinted, he could see it was a panther-like Drakeling, which was suddenly joined by three other glistening black creatures, all with the same glowing dead moon eyes. One looked like some form of mutated black dairy cow with giraffe like-legs that moved more insect-like than mammal. The other was a pig-like creature with a huge crocodile mouth along with an odd mix of animal parts that forced him to drag the nether portion of its body around. Gisbo blinked, and it seemed more had appeared. Some hissed, some growled, some screeched, and Gisbo felt his forehead get hot, and begin to glow.

  Suddenly, the panther Drake jumped up with a violent roar and took a swipe at him. Gisbo managed to lift up his legs just in time, and the panther landed gracefully on the other side of the pit. Unfortunately, the cow-like Drakeling was not so fortunate. It had followed the panther and had fallen down into the pit, mooing all the way down and disappearing into the blackness.

  “Not like this, no way in hell am I going, like this . . .” Gisbo growled. “No way in . . . GRAH!!!”

  Gisbo cried out in pain as the panther leaped up again, this time, digging its claws deep into his foot. A second later, all of the claws released, save one, which had gotten snagged on the big bone in his foot, and was slowly, dragging down the bone, ripping open the skin like a zipper down a jacket.

  Gisbo screamed so loud that it hurt his own eardrums. He snapped his head upward, and then, noticed something. It seemed that Jackobi had not wanted him to be totally helpless. There, above him, dangling from a branch, was his red Elekai’ ring given to him by Kennis, attached to the thrown star.

  Kennis . . .

  The panther Drake, still hanging by a claw, still causing him immense pain, had rattled his senses just enough to bring his brain the clarity it needed, and the adrenaline to act.

  With a kick forward that burst open his wrist wounds once again, Gisbo began rocking back and forth, over and over again, cursing as the rope felt as if it had slipped into his wrist, and was peeling the skin back with every pump. Rather than ignore the pain, he embraced it, and maintained his clarity, pumping his legs until he was swinging with a good rhythm, and with one more mighty swing, he gained the height and leverage needed, and managed to wrap his legs around the trunk of the tree, slamming the panther Drake against it, and freeing its claw from his foot. With a whine, the Drake fell, its paws flailing, into the bushes below the tree.

  Gisbo breathed a huge sigh of relief. His foot still throbbed, even as the Drakeness healed it, but it was no longer as intense as it was. Now, with his legs around the trunk, Gisbo, little by little, began to shimmy himself upward, higher, and higher. Every inch he grabbed, he considered it a victory, and that’s when he noticed something . . .

  The smaller of the Drakes were beginning to shimmy up the tree too.

  Gisbo cursed, trying to shimmy up faster, but not fast enough. Moments later, the tiny, squirrel-like Drakes had caught up to him and bit into his legs with both pointed and flat brimmed teeth, but Gisbo ignored it. This pain was nothing like the panther’s claw. Getting his tattoos hurt more than this, so on he went, higher and higher until he was within reaching distance of the branch. He reached out once, only to nearly topple over. He hung there, his legs wrapped around the tree, his free arm dangling, staring at the red, glinting ring. He knew right then, that in order to reach that ring, it would have to become his only thought. It would have to become his world.

  Kennis. His salvation.

  More and more now, Gisbo was attracting the beasts and monsters below who circled the tree like sharks smelling blood in the water. He knew he had to hurry. This time, rather than reach, he closed his eyes, focused, and leaped out, both hands extended, aiming for the branch . . .

  And missed.

  Gisbo went flying downward, snapping the rope along the way due to the added weight of the dozens of little, rodent Drakelings, still digging and ripping away at his legs, and together, in a crash, they landed in a bush just a foot away from the pit. Weakened, and dizzy Gisbo had time to see an old friend was rushing to meet him. Gisbo took the flying tackle head on from the panther Drake and fell back into the trunk of the tree as he felt the creature’s claws dig into the sides of his chest, trying to climb him, toward the sweet spot. His throat.

  These creatures didn’t want to devour him, or bring him in. They were trying to kill him! Something was wrong. Drakearon had never ordered his creatures to be so reckless. It seemed these ones, being so close to the pit, and the Dragon’s pure energy, had lost all sense, and replaced it with madness.

  With all that he had left, Gisbo rolled to the left, got up on one knee, pried two wriggling Drakes just inches from his neck off of him, and tossed them down the pit. In dual high-pitched squeaks, they fell, as the panther followed, leaping again, and this time, Gisbo caught it in a bear hug, bent down, and grabbed the monster by its thrashing tail. It felt as if the monster’s fur was made of sappy pine needles. They stuck into his palms uncomfortably, but Gisbo ignored it, and began spinning, gained momentum, and a few moments later, he was swinging the panther drake over his head, using its body as a weapon, slamming it into every and all charging, dripping black thing, before arcing the swing, and tossing the beast, straight up.

  Bullseye. The panther Drake shattered into the branch, breaking it, and freeing the ring. He had one chance now, one dive. If he missed, the ring would fall into the pit of Glaknabrade. The ring, it seemed to fall in slow motion as Gisbo pumped his legs, and leapt, extending both his hands, and landed in a neat, tuck and roll on the other side of the pit. He opened his palm, and there it was, the most beautiful site in the world. Even as he held it in his palm, his essence reacted to it, and on the inner lining, fiery red letters appeared.

  “I will love you forever.”

  This was all he had left of her now. He remembered how Perry had told him emotions were what truly powered the Elekai stones. The Elekai essence was just the catalyst. Before, Gisbo’s essence had been powered by misplaced rage, but now . . .

  In an instant, the ring was on his finger. It fit like a glove. It seemed to fit better than anything he had ever wore. He took in a deep breath, feeling the rush of hundreds of feet, and snapping jaws, coming for him.

  “Oh, what was it, Gisbo? What was that line you pulled from your ass back then? What’d you tell everyone? How did you want your story to end? I still don’t know, but there’s one thing that I do know . . .” Gisbo thought, as a swarm of creatures were now airborn, leaping at him from every angle.

  “IT’S NOT ENDING HERE!” Gisbo yelled. Memories of his Kennis, his father, his mother, his friends, rushed to the forefront his mind as he thrust his ringed fist into the air, and for the first time, Gisbo ignited his essence not with rage, not with righteous fury . . .

  Gisbo ignited it with passion.

  The surrounding area erupted into a beautiful, raging red firestorm, blossoming open like a red geranium, the same red flower Gisbo saw snipped off the castle wa
lls on the day of the Oak County tryouts. It had grown back and come to him in the form of an explosive power that was all its own, unable to be replicated.

  Elsewhere, at that same moment, behind his mask, Drakearon blinked, and paused mid-sentence while addressing his inner circle of followers. His mask hid his face, but couldn’t hide his eyes. They squinted in not surprise, but curiosity, as he felt the odd, fleeting sensation of hundreds of his Drakelings lives ended by a single blow.

  Moments later, Gisbo collapsed onto his rear, breathing hard, but smiling as he sat within his own wreckage of cleared vegetation and black piles of Drakeling remains. He knew it wouldn’t be long until more would come, attracted to the brand on his forehead, but for the moment, he reveled in the feeling of this short victory, of using his Elekai’, his own power, rather than the power of his dark, Drakeness infused wolf form.

  To his surprise, with little effort, Gisbo found himself back on his feet, and running in the direction that Jackobi and Rake had left.

  He leapt over rocks and fallen trees with renewed spirit and energy. His lungs burned, his legs ached, and he didn’t know why, but he loved every moment of it. It was a good pain, the kind that made him feel alive. He didn’t know if it was the Drakeness, or his new mindset, or perhaps the burst of Elekai’ channeling through him that allowed him to keep such a pace, to keep going, but on he went until he burst out of a cluster of trees, and found himself on a beach. Dark water crashed onto the shore, lapped at the sand, then retreated back to do it again, and again like a scorned lover.

  Gisbo quickly ran for the water, and dove in right under the crest of a wave, letting its power throw his body about under the water, tumbling him around before he burst to the surface, threw his long hair back, and shook it to and fro like a dog. He grinned, laughing, never feeling so refreshed in all his life, and then, before him, in the trees, not far off, the sound of countless squeals and screams cried out. They were coming, and that’s when he saw it, something he couldn’t have seen while in the darkness of the trees. In that moment, he understood the concept of unable to see the forest from the trees.

  There, rising from the dead center of the island, a fierce, blue white aura shone in a thin line that stretched all the way up into the sky until it was lost among the clouds.

  For a moment, Gisbo didn’t believe it. Besides firelight, this blue white aura was the first true light he had seen in three years. It caused his knees to wobble as he stepped out of the water, and back on the shore. Was the feeling hope? He couldn’t quite place it. It was as if he was relearning how to feel again, learning to walk again after years of being paralyzed. All he knew, was that everything in him said he must go to it, must reach it, no matter what it took.

  And then, as if challenging his newfound resolve, the island sent at him the first of many black monsters. It broke from the trees ahead of the rest. This one had the head of a snapping reptile attached to a long, thin, ostrich neck, torso, and four legs, three of which were feathered, and one scaly. The head, it was way too big for its body, and upon coming to a dead stop, the head fell forward, swaying like a weighted pendulum into the sand. The Drakeling however didn’t seem to be at all surprised. It was as if this was as natural an occurrence as sneezing. The Drake took two long strides forward, dragging its head, before getting enough momentum to swing it back up into place, and then, charged at Gisbo with a screech, as other Drakelings broke from the trees to join him.

  Gisbo felt a grin rise on his face as he powered up his essence, and in a flurry of fire blasts, fists, kicks, and head butts began fighting his way through the rampaging monsters toward the blue white light, relishing every moment, and feeling as free as his first Skeet ride with his father.

  “Sky blue! Air breezy! Fly true and don’t get queasy!” Falcon’s voice filled his mind, and rather than fight it off, Gisbo embraced it, and let his father’s spirit carry him toward his destiny.

  Never being a good judge of distance, Gisbo highly miscalculated how long it would take to make it toward the glow. It felt like hours since he began his trek, and he could already feel his essence nearing depletion. If he didn’t find a safe place to sleep soon, and recharge, the Drakes would no doubt overwhelm him, but oddly enough, he wasn’t worried. If anything, he was relaxed, excited for the unknown ahead, as he walked along now, pacing himself.

  Suddenly, the trees rustled above him. Without even thinking, Gisbo just reacted. Thrusting his ringed fist upward, he blew apart a black, monstrous bird with the wingspan of at least seven feet. The bird Drake’s remains showered over him like black raindrops. The smell of its innards was gag inducing, but he swallowed it back.

  In this fashion, on Gisbo went, taking out everything in his path as the blue light grew closer and closer, and brighter and brighter with each step until just through a patch of trees, a stone throw away was a hill, and atop the hill, still blind to him, was undoubtedly the source of the glow, but before he could begin the climb there was a rustle behind him. Gisbo spun, ring pointed, to see at least twelve stalking beasts emerge from the shadows, but Gisbo held his ground, and did not fire.

  The beasts weren’t advancing. They only paced back and forth across an invisible line, snarling, as if they could go no further. It was then Gisbo realized why. The blue white light, in the spot he was standing, was keeping them at bay. One brave monster, smaller than the rest, tried leaping his way, only to come into the light, and burst into ash.

  Gisbo breathed a sigh of relief, placed his hands on his hips and stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Once rejuvenated, Gisbo turned his back on the creatures, looked up the hill, and began to climb, but to his surprise he took no more than ten steps when he felt as if his stomach had caught fire. In a fierce upchuck, he hunched over, and felt his blood begin to boil, and saw steam rise out of the pores on his flesh, as if he were a giant fleshy teakettle.

  The light, the aura, it was hurting him . . .

  Not only that, but thoughts and memories, the deepest most hurtful ones, began to rise up, so clear, so vivid, it was as if they were happening all over again. With much effort, Gisbo backtracked, and broke into a run to get out of the harmful radiation, only to come face to face with the snarling, pacing pack of Drakelings. One nipped at him, came into the light, and burst into ash like the previous one.

  Gisbo stepped back from them, turned, and looked up the hill again where the source of it all lay. He rose up his forearms and hands to see that he was no longer smoking, and slowly, shuffled his feet forward until he was at the start of the hill. Once there, he cautiously stretched his hand out into the brighter section, and let his feet follow him, but just like before he was allowed but ten steps and then felt his hand begin to burn as if he had placed it into a boiling pot of water. With a grimace, he ripped it back, to see it smoking.

  “Damn it, what the hell?” Gisbo wondered aloud, shaking his hand about like a wet towel. “All right, Gisbo. Calm down. You’re at least safe where you are. That’s something to celebrate. Sit your ass down, and think this through. There has to be some way to . . .”

  “This is righteous energy . . .” said a familiar voice, a voice, that had only come to him during the darkest of times. It was the voice of the Phoenix, but Gisbo knew that that couldn’t be. It was Drakearon all along. The Phoenix, IAM, it was only lies, lies that had ordered him to make friends, find family, just so Drakearon could take them all away.

  “What? What did you just say?” Gisbo asked aloud, looking all about. The voice seemed to come from all around him.

  “The Phoenix. The Dragon. Each put out energies within this world that bind it together. The Phoenix represents space, and order, while The Dragon represents time and chaos. Without one, you cannot know the other. Without Chaos, you could not kow Order. Without good, you could not know evil. Without righteousness, you could not know wickedness. Ying, and Yang as another culture on another world has said.

  On their own, the Dragon and Phoenix are but forces, forces, tha
t when come together, create life, create, us. Only from fire, comes light, and only with light, is creation perceived. Without it, we are nothing, not even shadows.

  By themselves, they are neither good, nor are they evil, in the same way a blade, by itself, is neither good nor evil. Only when the blade is placed in the hand of its creator, us, can its purpose be determined. Only when a blade is used against the innocent, to rob and pillage, or, to fulfill a dark urge, is it evil, but when the wielder uses the blade to defend the innocent from attack, to cut wood for warmth, or to hunt for sustenance, is it good.

  The Phoenix and Dragon, they are not Gods, they are not Deity’s. They, like life and death, come from something without a title, without a name, and without an explanation. To give it such would do it a disservice.

  No, Gisbo Falcon, that is not how we will treat this power, this nameless thing from a nameless one. You, we, were, are, chosen before time and space, of time and space, to keep the world in balance, for only in balance, can there be freedom. The Phoenix, just like the Dragon, has the capacity for both good, or evil, despite what you have learned from those with minds too proud to embrace wonder and mystery.

  The Phoenix is pure, righteous fire, and as you have seen with the behavior of the Strifes, too much righteousness can hinder humanity just as too much wickedness can. Already, I feel the extremes of both sides, plaguing our world, and only you have the potential, to learn how to bring the world back into balance. In the end, it all comes down to a choice . . . and that is where our current problem lies.

  Right now, at this very moment, Drakearon seeks to change the rules forever. With the full power of the Dragon at his disposal, and without the full power of the Phoenix to stand against him, he can now take that choice away from you. He can take away your free will, and in its place, instill his own. But, that time has not yet come, that choice, still remains, and for a choice to exist, a question must precede it, and that question, Gisbo Falcon, is this. Will you do nothing, standing for injustice? Or will you act, standing against injustice?” The voice asked.