by J. C. Fiske
“Well, this is unexpected.” Ranto said, watching as the Green and Black Armies took to them surrounded and enveloped them like wolves, herding sheep.
“Lead the charge inside. I will deal with them.” Malik said, as he charged up his essence, and leapt clear over his army, and began charging through the small forces of Oak County soldiers with dual curved swords, threshing them as if they were wheat to the many cheers of his men, watching their champion, the one man who was able to channel their chaos, and point it at something worthwhile.
Ranto took a moment to marvel at his prowess, as in one hand, he brandished patience and precision, where in the other, he brandished tenacity and rage in a perfect blend of ice and fire. Ranto grinned as he noticed his heart pumped faster, knowing that soon, he would have to personally deal with him, but not yet . . .
The Strife leader now turned his attention to the doorway, where behind it, lay a squad of Oak County’s best, propping up the door with supports and elemental barriers.
With a roar, that sounded more bear-like than human, Ranto compressed his essence into his right fist, and sent a surge of Drakeness into it until it quivered and shook, like a frozen explosion in time, then, threw it forward, straight at the center crease of the gate, then, stepped back as the door vibrated, then crumbled to the ground as if it were a stained glass window, splatted in a variety of human colors donated by the Freeists who had died, standing up for what they had truly, and utterly believed in.
“Leave nothing standing! KILL THEM ALL!” Ranto screamed, as he and his green army, as well as Malik’s black army, in a cone shape, funneled in through the breached entryway of Oak County.
The War for Oak County had begun.
Chapter Twenty Six: The War for Oak County
“So, is it true? About that blue light? That Vadid’s back and he caught a whole damn city, and . . . GRAH!” Crass yelled, as he scraped out the squashed remains of a bug that collided with his right eye. Together, in a flying V-Shape, there they were, The Renegades, in cleanly pressed blue uniforms flying across the night sky, all holding hands with Jackobi at the lead in the center, channeling his power of flight to his comrades, and flying over the woods of Naforia on their way to Oak County.
“No doubt about it! He’s back! He flew up there like a blue comet, WOOSH!” Grandfield said, swinging his weight forward in a punch to describe the speed at the far side of the V causing everyone to lose their balance.
“GRANDFIELD! For the last time, your fat ass is hard enough to carry, even for me. Refrain from moving!” Jackobi snapped, gritting his teeth, and focusing his energies.
“Bah! You’re just jealous!” Grandfield said, swiping a big hand in the air in defiance.
“GRANDFIELD!” Jackobi snapped again.
“Ok! Sorry! Jeesh!” Grandfield said. ”Just trying to relieve some tension is all. Rolce, is it really as bad as you say it is?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Rolce said, doing his best to hide the worry in his voice.
“You’re from there, aren’t you? How does it feel? Saving a city that despised you?” Glinda asked.
“They didn’t so much despise me like they did with Gisbo. I’m not conflicted when there are those who need help, and from what I hear, there’s not one, but two armies there,”
“Two? Like, not including Oak County’s army?” Anaka asked, biting her lower lip.
“Including Oak County’s army, there are three.” Rolce said.
“Rolce, do you really think it was him? That it was Vadid?” Anaka asked. Rolce looked up at her, her hair flapping in the wind wildly.
“No, no I don’t,” Rolce said.
“Oh,” Anaka said, frowning.
“I think it was Gisbo,” Rolce revealed. To this, everyone turned their heads to look at Rolce, throwing off the alignment.
“Focus people . . .” Jackobi ordered.
“Rolce . . . that, that would be . . .” Glinda started.
“I believe him,” Rake said, surprising everyone.
“Bullshit. We all saw him a few days ago. He was no longer sucking out of the bottle. The bottle was sucking out of him! The Gisbo we knew died during the Rupture. Face the music, and . . . oh, no . . .” Crass said, his eyes growing wide.
The high walls of Oak County came into view, and with it, came smoke, and fire, rising from within the walls like a distant, blazing torch.
“We’re . . . we’re too late . . .” Rolce said, cursing silently under his breath.
“No, I still see movement, shadows, in the flames. They’ve breached the gates, but it’s not over yet! Everyone, be as still as possible. We’re going down . . .” Jackobi said, and with that, he tilted his body, slowly, into a downward arc, and the flying V of Renegades landed right in the middle of a warzone.
Thomson Ricard, along with his father, stood back to back, parrying and striking like a moving, impenetrable turtle shell, striking against the crazed men garbed in Black, and the few, but very skilled men garbed in green.
“Hold your ground! Do not let them reach the tower! HOLD! Wedge formation! Wedge formation!” Ricard screamed, as his soldiers retreated back forming a near perfect arrowhead shape with Ricard and Thomson at the point, and using the interior castle walls as a breaker and support for their left and right sides. If they were going to get into the courtyard, they’d have to go through the wedge formation, which was easier said than done.
Both Thomson and Ricard, breathing heavily, looked at the sudden halting of the enemy, deciding what their next move would be, considering anyone who rushed forward now, would be undone, and any sane combatant was not ready to throw their lives away so meaninglessly, but unfortunately for the Oak County soldiers, many of Malik’s men lack sanity, and on they came, ready to give their lives for the eternal peace they had always craved.
Father and son looked at one another, each reading the other’s thoughts. This was their last stand. Their backs were against the wall, literally, and in moments, the two armies, in their vast numbers, would swarm them, push them together, and their wedge formation would push together, then break, and implode, leaving them dead.
Thomson watched as the men in black, snarling, and guffawing like hyenas, charged at him. Everything seemed to move so slowly now as he found himself looking past them and at his home city, now covered in flames, and his thoughts wandered, as they tended to do from time to time, to the Flarian boy, the boy who was plucked up by The Renegade Warrior, the boy who had made him doubt who he was, and then, just like that, a green warrior appeared, raising up a giant, yellow lit warhammer that washed over Malik in a crushing shadow, ready to come down, and break him. He knew with his fencing sword, there was no amount of defense he could muster, and if he left his position, the wedge would fail, and if he were to die, he would not die running from his post. No. Death was no longer coming. It was here. He had to focus on something, anything besides his ruined home, and the snarling soldier with the hammer coming down, and that’s when he saw it, the last thing his mortal eyes would ever look upon. There, growing not from the rocks in the wall, but through it, was something he couldn’t believe . . .
A red flower.
Thomson was entranced by it, and in that moment, just before the hammer struck, he wished, and prayed, more than anything, that that man in blue, that Flarian Renegade, would come back, and that dog boy, the one who he had unmercifully mocked, beaten, and preyed upon, would . . .
Blood exploded upon Thomson’s face, hot, warm and thick washing over him like a crimson blanket, but, he felt no pain. In fact, he felt nothing at all. He decided to take a risk, to look away from the red flower and was so glad he did. His mouth went dry, then fell open. His skin prickled, his eyes looked as wide as full moons, and he felt his mind tug, as his eyes and brain argued, wondering, and deciding that if what stood before him now, was indeed real, or, just wish fulfillment.
A Renegade stood before him, his blue cape and bandanna flapping from the roaring flames. He stoo
d looking down at the Strife with the warhammer who now lay dead at his feet, his wet innards scattered across the ground, glistening in the firelight like micha in the morning sun. The Renegade then looked up at him, and made eye contact, for just a moment, but said nothing, as he turned back around, and leapt into the fray with no thought, or fear, for his own life, with others, dressed just like him, and moved not like men and women, but forces of nature, of fire, of wind, of water, of air, complete with animal companions by their sides.
Thomson looked up at his father, who stared on, mouth agape, as the men and women in blue, for the first time that night, forced back the Black and Green armies.
“What the hell’s going on?” Thomson managed to mutter.
“A miracle . . .” Ricard stated firmly, as he smacked his son on the back, bringing his blood back to a steady flow, and together, with smiles upon their faces, and renewed morale, they joined with the warriors in blue.
Rolce and Jackobi led the charge, pointing here and there, as the Renegades stretched out, pushed back the army with their immense power and Boon abilities, and before long, with Ricard’s army providing backup, the army of Black began to be funneled back out of the courtyard, away from the head tower that held the shivering politicians, who knew not what to make of the arrival of these blue clad warriors who each fought as one man, and one woman armies in their own right.
Now, the Black and Green army began to separate and break apart into clusters, and for every cluster, a Renegade lead the charge, with a cluster of Ricard’s men backing them up, pushing and pushing them farther and farther back with fewer, and fewer numbers. It didn’t take the black and green clad men long to realize that they couldn’t compete with the skill and power of the Renegade leaders. They needed a power to match them, and on it came in the form of Ranto and Malik as they both fought their way up through the center, in a straight line, and found themselves face to face with Rolce, and Jackobi, and like a calm, manmade valley in the midst of the fighting the four warriors stood, staring at one another, weapons at the ready.
“Rolce Moordin,” Ranto said, grinning.
Rolce said nothing, only closed his eyes for a long moment, which gave Ranto cause for worrying.
“What’s he doing?” Malik asked, bloodied from head to toe, his swords still wafting with the odor of Mr. Rotstone’s cologne, and life blood.
“Sybil technique,” Jackobi said, grinning. “He’s insuring your defeat,”
“Hmph,” Malik grunted.
“What? You think we came? Just the six of us? Behind you, on my signal, right now, is an entire army of Flarians, and Soarians. You will be surrounded, nowhere left to go. Way I see it, you surrender now, stop this fighting, and we may, MAY, let you live in a deep, dark dungeon at the end of the universe,” Rolce said. Ranto smiled at this, stood at ease, and thought it over.
“He speaks truth, I feel them coming,” Malik said.
“Of course I do. Way I see it, this here, tonight, is just a spark, a spark, that will light the fire for the upcoming war, the final war, the war, for Thera itself. You think that we, are right where you want us? No, you, are right where I want you,” Ranto said. “Welcome, to the foresight of Ranto Narroway, it certainly takes some getting used to . . .”
Ranto then closed his eyes and channeled his connection with his army, who had all taken of his blood, the blood of Drakearon, and suddenly, they halted their fighting.
“STOP! EVERYONE!” Rolce shouted through a mind-link. Their army stood down instantly.
“This is the exact position I was worried about being in . . . should we bring in the army, he’ll turn the Strifes into living bombs, and kill everyone . . .” Rolce said, looking all about now as the armies halted their charge and stood waiting, eyes darting every which way.
“Whether you like it or not, Rolce. This city? It’s going to fall, along with all it represents. It has to, for when it does, starting tomorrow, you will all ask the question, ‘where were you, the night democracy died?’”
Ranto, finished his final syllable, and that’s when Jackobi struck. Activating his light form, taught to him by his father, Jackobi moved with both of his daggers, aiming for the heart of Ranto in less than the speed of a blink, but Ranto, didn’t blink.
Jackobi felt both of his wrists become caught in two iron-clad grips, then felt them being ground together. He looked up to see, that with one grab of his massive hand, Ranto had caught both of Jackobi’s wrists mid-stab, and now, was squeezing them together, so tightly, that Jackobi was forced to his knees.
“Yes, this is the exact position I like you in. You move, one inch, and I break your hands, and what is a Shininja, without his hands?” Ranto asked.
Jackobi gritted his teeth, fighting back the scream rising in his throat, not about to give Ranto the satisfaction of letting him hear it.
“I don’t think you understand, Jack. While you and your little friends spent your time cowering and sniveling these past three years, trying to overcome your sorrow, I spent my time, my every waking second, training, going above and beyond that of a mortal man.” Ranto said, leaning in, his white teeth glistening like stars. “You’ve gotten slow,”
Ranto then lifted Jackobi off his feet, and tossed him forward as easily as he would a bag of weeds, landing him on his rear, and causing him to drop his daggers in favor of rubbing at his tender wrists.
“Now, sit there, and be good. I’ve had time to think this over, and really, this is a no win situation for all of us. It has taken quite sometime for me to control my Drakeness long enough to infect my own army, and impose my will over them. For us to fight, we would no doubt, kill one another, and keep killing, until there is nothing left to salvage.” Ranto said. “But, Oak County still needs to fall this night, and for it to fall, this tower, and everyone in it, needs to be destroyed, then burned away, forever.
So, I say this to your Renegades. Toss out the leaders from their high tower, and hand them over to us. You do this, and we will pack up, leave, and both sides will live to fight another day, or? I ignite my army, and kill us all!” Ranto said.
“The more time that passes, the more powerful Drakearon becomes! You’re turning your army onto the wrong place!” Jackobi said.
“I almost hear this as an invitation? To join with you, and bring the fight to Drakearon? I wouldn’t worry yourself. He’s next on my list. You Renegades, are just so few nowadays . . .” Ranto said.
“You forget another option,” Malik said, grinning, he pulled out his sword. “What if I say, to hell with all of you, and bring on the chaos?”
“What’s stopping you then?” Ranto asked, turning to him.
“We both know the answer to that,” Malik said. Ranto suddenly found the ground quite interesting, showing a glimmer of weakness that only Jackobi caught.
“I know a bluff when I hear one, both of you. Neither of you want to die. All you’re doing, is stalling. What is this really all about?” Jackobi asked.
Neither one said anything.
“This, this whole thing, it’s about him, isn’t it?” Jackobi asked, rising to his feet, and cracking his neck.
“Jack?” Rolce asked, but Jack didn’t hear him.
“Both of you, look at you, even at the end, you’re still nothing, but puppets, willing to obey, all, for him. You want him, like, little boys on a damned playground. You were willing to obey, adapt to theories that aren’t your own, to raise armies, take innocent lives, all for The Goat Man? All to settle a game of pride? You’re both the epitome of pathetic.” Jackobi said.
“You don’t understand,” Ranto said, hanging his head in shame. “There’s more going on here, things beyond our control, things, you cannot control . . .”
“I don’t think so. Look at you, both of you. So much power, so much animosity, and yet, still, the two of you can’t sleep at night, because his laugh, his face, haunts your dreams. Doesn’t he? Well, he’s not here. I don’t know where the hell he is . . .” Jackobi said.
/> “He’ll be here,” Malik said. “He has no choice,”
“And how do you know?” Rolce asked.
“The Goat Man,” Ranto said, in a nervous tone. Together they grew silent at this.
“I’ve heard that name,” Rolce said.
“He’s beyond all of us, even Drakearon. We are but puppets on a string, and we have no choice,” Ranto said.
“You always have a choice,” Rolce said.
“Not this time.” Malik said.
“Why?” Jackobi asked.
“BECAUSE HIS CHOICE IS EXACTLY WHAT WE WANT!” Malik said. “I want to break him, I want to humiliate him, I want to see him suffer, I want to make him feel all the pain, all the restlessness he’s caused me! I’ve thought of nothing else, NOTHING!” Malik said. Ranto then looked down at him, fire in his eyes.
“Then you’ll have to get in line,” Ranto said.
“I’ve had it, I’VE HAD IT WITH ALL OF THIS! All this talking, all these promises, and he’s not even here! Again, again the Goat Man’s lied to us!” Malik said. “If I can’t have Gisbo Falcon, I WILL HAVE ALL OF YOU!”
Malik then turned to his army.
“DON’T DO IT!” Rolce screamed.
“KILL EVERYTHING THAT MOVES! EVOLUTION THROUGH CHAOS! NOW!” Malik said, as he powered up his essence in a fierce blast of Flarian energy, throwing everyone around him off their feet, as he entered a writhing, berserker rage, throwing himself in the middle of the charge, killing not only Ricard’s men, but Ranto’s, as well as his own, and madness, like a diseases, spread through the armies, and Malik’s wish and desire came true.
