by J. C. Fiske
“Anaka, Glinda, what I have done . . . the pain I have caused you, with Ashlin, it is beyond forgivable, beyond anything I can say, or do, I just, I just . . .” Gisbo said, taking in a deep breath, trying to find the words, but Anaka wouldn’t let him as she dropped down to both of her knees and embraced him in a tight hug, pressing her face firmly into his right shoulder, tears flowing, and soon, although resistant at first, Glinda found herself dropping too and the three of them huddled there, together, holding one another up, and began the process of healing their hearts the only way they could . . . with tears . . .
“We can talk more later, but as you can see, we’re in quite some trouble here. Anaka Laurin, Glinda Bicknill, will you stand with me tonight? Will you fight with me?” Gisbo asked, pulling away so he could look them both in the eyes.
“There was a time, I blamed you, but, in retrospect, when I think of Ashlin, I think of the hand, the hand of Drakearon, through that portal, controlling you . . . and . . . and . . .” Anaka said, fighting back tears.
“Hey, hey, it’s ok, we can talk about this later. We can . . .” Gisbo started, and then, Anaka found her resolve.
“I’m with you. Til the end.” Anaka said. Gisbo smiled, and kissed her on the forehead, then, looked over at Glinda, who opened her mouth, but then, closed it, and settled for a nod. Gisbo nodded back, rose to his feet, and made his way down the line.
“Gisbo?” Glinda called. Gisbo turned his head.
“Kick his ass!” Glinda said, smiling. Gisbo smiled back, and made his way down and now stood in front of Niffin, Rake, and Crass.
“You’re not gonna hug me, and make out with my hand are you?” Crass asked, folding his arms. Gisbo shook his head. Crass walked toward him, and looked him up and down. “You’ve changed. Good. That being said, I think we can both be men here. I won’t bullshit you. I don’t know if our relationship will ever be the same again. I know it wasn’t your fault, what happened to my father, but, damn it, man. I just look at you and it hurts, it hurts a lot.”
Gisbo took in a breath, held it, and nodded.
“But, none of that matters right now. All I know is that right now, I’ve seen what you are, and what you can do. You’re the Man-Phoenix. You want to waste these assholes? Good. I’ll be right behind you. You got me?” Crass said, raising an eyebrow.
“Thanks, Crass.” Gisbo said. He then turned to Niffin, and gave her a smile that showed all of his teeth.
“Niffin Roarie,” Gisbo said as he moved in, and picked her right up off her feet, and held her close. “Thank you. Thank for believing in me, even when I didn’t.”
“It’s . . . it’s ok . . .” Niffin squeaked out. Gisbo then let her down, and Niffin cleared her throat, slowly reached out, and grabbed his hand. “If she were here, Gisbo, Kennis, she would be, so proud of you, but since she can’t, um, I wanted to say that, that, well, I’m proud of you . . .”
Gisbo bent down, kissed Niffin on the forehead, and hugged her tightly to him once more, before turning to Rake.
“Nothing to say. You know what you have to do, and I know what I have to do. Go,” Rake said, cocking his head toward Ranto’s direction. Gisbo smirked.
“Does my heart good to see you haven’t changed one bit, Rake. Thank you,” Gisbo said. Rake gave him a rare smirk, and nodded. Gisbo nodded back and made his way through the flames into the pathway in the middle where Jackobi was already waiting for him, his arms folded. Gisbo walked up to him, meeting his ice cold blue eyes, with his red enflamed ones.
“You’re an asshole,” Gisbo said plainly.
Jackobi said nothing, and folded his arms.
“But you’re my asshole . . .” Gisbo said, breaking out in a grin, then, realized exactly what he said and twisted his face into a grimace. “That, that could have been worded better.”
“From you? Doubtful,” Jack said. Gisbo shrugged.
“You know, you would think after all that training, all that time spent getting my head straight, to control this power, I might’ve learned something. It scares me just how quickly I returned to the liquor, after all that . . .”
“But you came. Kicking and screaming, sure, but that’s what I’m here for. To keep your ass in line.” Jackobi said. He then walked forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You can do this. This fight is yours, but, Gisbo, you do realize, channeling such power as you are, you do know the cost of it, don’t you?”
Gisbo frowned at this, then shook his head.
“Don’t want to think about it,” Gisbo said. “Life’s hard, Jack. Always will be, but I’m harder!” Gisbo said, and then put his hands on his hips shaking his head. “Ok, you know what? I’m just going to stop talking for a while, and . . .”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying all this, your cute little reunion, but last I checked, we have something to settle. I gave up myself, left my comfort zone, all for this moment, the moment, The Goat Man promised me! I gathered an army, I searched deep, saw what I wanted for this world, a world that I cannot have, while you still live, while you still haunt my dreams. You! You made me do that! Every thought, every action in these long years, have been leading up to this! You will not make me wait a second longer!” Ranto screamed as he teleported forward with the Drakeness, and struck over Jackobi’s shoulder at Gisbo with a dual, Flarian, Drakeness infused punch. There was contact, and the ground erupted upward into a spray of dust, dirt, and grass, as if a geyser beneath it suddenly, went off.
Ranto grinned, waiting for the dust to settle and looked down, only to see his fist had made a crater, twelve feet in diameter, and three feet deep, but other than that . . . there was nothing.
Ranto looked all about now, preparing for a counter attack that wouldn’t come, and found him, off to his right, to see Gisbo had somehow dodged the blow, but also, had time to carry Jack safely with him. The two were walking, side by side now, over to a large, broken pile of a man, Rolce Moordin.
Nobody, nobody’s that fast . . . Ranto thought, his fist still embedded in the ground, glaring at his back, his disrespectful back, as if he didn’t even matter, that all he went through, didn’t even matter. He took in a deep breath. Emotion, it counteracted the Drakeness. Made it behave strangely, made it seem as if Drakearon, not him, was in control. With a quick yank of his fist, he pulled it free from the dirt, bringing up pebbles, and clods with it, and stood, waiting, taking in long, deep breaths. He was here. He would have his revenge . . . without a doubt, Man-Phoenix power, or not, he was no Drakearon. He was new, inexperienced, and soon, he would kill him, and the Phoenix power would be his. He smiled at this thought, and waited patiently.
Rolce, through slits, saw two red fireballs, then saw, those two red fireballs were attached to a face, a face of a great hero that he had seen many times in his visions and dreams, the face of his best friend, Gisbo Falcon. He smiled, and his lips split open again.
“I knew, I knew . . . you’d come . . .” Rolce stammered out.
“Take it easy, buddy. I’m here. Let’s get you fixed up.” Gisbo said, as he bent down, and lifted Rolce’s large frame gently, as if he were holding a newborn, and walked with him over to the blue flames, and laid him within. In moments, the fire flickered about him, patching up his innards, repairing his cracked ribs, and replenishing him with stamina until he was as fit as before his battle with Purah.
On his own now, Rolce rolled to one side, and not just got up, but jumped up, walked out into the pathway, and gazed about at the two walls of flames, separating the armies, and the hundreds upon hundreds of white, twinkling ghost wolves, ready, and lying in wait. Rolce shook his head, his mouth agape in amazement, then turned back to his friend.
“How are you doing this?” Rolce asked.
“Doesn’t matter. All I know is I can’t keep doing it for long,” Gisbo said, as suddenly, his eyes took a roll up into the back of his head, and he faltered back a bit a few steps.
“Gisbo!” Rolce said, catching him, but Gisbo grabbed his arm, and righted himself.
“I’m fine, really, just, just a quick loss of balance, that’s all,” Gisbo said, taking in a deep breath, and righting himself back up with Rolce’s help.
“I can’t even imagine what it takes to . . . everything, everything has a cost, what sort of cost does it take to control all of this?” Rolce asked. Gisbo looked up at him and gave a smile.
“It’s not important. I know who I am, and what I’m here for. I’m here, to stop assholes like that . . .” Gisbo started, pointing at Ranto before mentally asking himself,
If Ranto’s there, where’s Malik? Where’s the Goat Man? But then, quickly tossed the thought aside, knowing that they’d come, oh, they would come, at precisely the worst possible moment. He then looked back at Rolce.
“I have no grand speeches planned, Rolce. I have nothing more to say, other than this . . .” Gisbo said. He then looked up at his friend, into the same eyes that experienced so much loss, so much pain, so much hardship, so much joy, together. He looked into the eyes of the man, who had stuck by him, believed in him, when no one else did. He looked into the eyes of the man who had balanced him, and made him into the man he was today. So many memories rose up. They had braved Oak County together, trained together, wept together, faced war together, and, faced tragedy together. What do you say to a man who stood by you through all that? Gisbo felt his eyes grow moist at the corners, and let his heart speak.
“I love you, man,” Gisbo said, his voice cracking at the end. Rolce’s eyes filled with tears. He stood for a moment, then moved forward ready to wrap Gisbo in the manliest hug possible, but Gisbo stuck a finger in the air.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” Gisbo said, taking in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Whew, ok . . . listen up and listen good. I’m going to deactivate this fire in a few moments, and when I do, all hell’s gonna break loose. Lead them, Rolce. Lead them to victory,” Gisbo said.
“And what are you going to do?” Rolce asked.
“What I was born to do.” Gisbo said, as he suddenly, stabbed his Phoenix blade into the dirt, cracked his neck, then his knuckles, and made his way toward Ranto, his fists lowered, and clenched.
“Gisbo! What are you doing!? Pick up your sword! Ranto! He’s beyond anything I’ve encountered! You won’t stand a chance without your Phoenix power! GISBO!” Rolce screamed, and then, Jackobi was by his side.
“Let him go,” Jack said.
“No, Jack.” Rolce asked. “I don’t even think at 100% I could put a dent in him. He’s not at all like, Purah. He truly is a master of the Drakeness! His hate for Gisbo has made him unbelievably powerful! If Gisbo thinks he can beat him, just with his Flarian, Elekai energies alone, he’s crazy!”
And then, as if hearing him, Gisbo slid off both of his red, Elekai’ rings as he walked, and tossed them, one at a time, over each of his shoulders.
“GISBO!” Rolce cried out, ready to charge after him, but Jack held him back.
“Wait. Turn around, and look . . .” Jack said. Rolce did and couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“I don’t know if it’s the wolves’ presence, or what, but Gisbo stopped using his Phoenix energies when he stabbed his sword in the ground. The fire walls are down, but nobody’s moving . . .” Jack said, closing his eyes, and stretching out with his enhanced senses. “Listen to them. Can you hear it? Can you hear their warrior hearts beating excitedly? They’re fascinated . . . someone, is challenging one of their leaders, the man who rallied them with power, and fear, and order, and someone, someone is challenging him, outright defying him, with nothing more than the two fists and body he was born with . . .”
“He can’t beat him without Elekai! Everything’s going to rebound back at him! He’s going in there, just, just,” Rolce started.
“Just a man, yeah, and guess what? Symbolism, it’s everything. Oak County may be the symbol for democracy, of races setting aside their differences and working together for the greater good, but Gisbo, he’s symbolizing something else, embodying something else . . . Jackobi said.
“And that is?” Rolce asked.
“The common man, the Average Joe, the downtrodden, the ones who aren’t born special, the ones not born with essential energies. He’s going to fight Ranto their way. He’s going to show them what happens, when a man, listens to his own beating heart, and finds the will, to dare differently . . .”
“Your arrogance truly knows no bounds! Do you not remember our last fight? I was only defeated because I, unlike you, did not have the power of Drakearon flowing through me! And now, you mean to come at me, without your Phoenix power, without even . . . Elekai!? ARE YOU INSANE!?” Ranto bellowed.
“So they keep telling me . . .” Gisbo said, shrugging.
“And you honestly think you can win!?” Ranto asked. Gisbo didn’t even break his stride.
“Yup,” Gisbo said, grinning the same wicked grin that kept Ranto tossing and turning on sleepless nights.
“You’re mocking me, you’re planning something, something sinister,” Ranto said.
“Me? Plan? I’m offended by the notion!” Gisbo declared, throwing up his hands.
“Enough of your, MOUTH! Fine, you don’t want to use, Elekai? Your Phoenix power? Or, I assume, your Drakeness? FINE! Then let’s repeat some history . . .” Ranto said, stretching out his arms, leaving himself vulnerable, and ignited his Flarian essence, surrounding himself in flickering flames, with splotches of black Drakeness intertwined within.
“Go ahead! Prove you words! Hit me, and prove to everyone here how much of a fraud you really are . . .” Ranto said.
Gisbo stopped now, and stood within striking distance of Ranto. He seemed to always forget just how tall Ranto was until he got close to him. Gisbo was six foot even in flat feet, but right now, he was face to face with Ranto’s chest, and Gisbo’s long hair, cape, and bandanna tails flapped about furiously from the power the Strife Titan was giving off.
“Come on . . .” Ranto challenged, his arms still outstretched, his fingers wriggling with anticipation.
“Foolish turkey . . .” Gisbo said.
And with that, Gisbo charged, and leaning all of his body weight forward, he embraced the fire style, claimed all the available space, made it his own, and threw everything that made him up as a person into one, solid, straight punch into Ranto’s stomach . . .
RAGGGGHHHHHH!!!
Everybody shuddered, every mouth dropped, and every eye grew wide as the sound of Ranto’s breath leaving him, boomed throughout the courtyard.
Ranto keeled over, and heaved up both vomit and blood before falling to his knees, clutching his stomach, as if he had just been struck in the manhood instead. Instantly, he lost control of his essence and it fizzled out.
Gisbo then grabbed a clump of Ranto’s hair and twisted his head back so they could be eye to eye.
“Look at me.” Gisbo said. Ranto’s eyes remained closed. Gisbo just squeezed tighter, and with a yelp, Ranto’s eyes snapped open.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen. I know how much of an exhibitionist you are, so, I’m going to embarrass you, and everything you stand for, right here right now, in front of the eyes of the civilized and uncivilized alike. The world is our stage now, and you? Congratulations. You’re going to be playing the part of my little bitch . . .” Gisbo said, his face stone. “I will not quit. I will not show mercy. Prepare for the beating of your life . . .”
And with that, Gisbo let go of Ranto’s hair, and clapped both of his hands over the sides of Ranto’s ears, bursting both of the Strife’s eardrums, and sending a painful vibration into his brain and down his spin, before head-butting him straight on into the nose, forcing his eyes shut, giving him no chance to see, or dodge, the rising knee up into his groin, or the strike to the kidney, or the straight kick that nearly caved in his chest cavity and sent him sprawling backward into a roll where he lay in a desecrated heap.
“So, I was thinking today, you know, of the first time we fought, where you laid that little chestn
ut of wisdom upon me, about how sports, competitions, all that, how it’s just a ton of bullshit, how it’s limited to hands and feet, and how fighting another, one on one, is the highest form of competition. How’d you put it? Right, you lay it all on the line, incorporate all that you are, against all someone else is,” Gisbo said. “And then, we both know what happened, I hit you, and all my energy rebounded back on me.”
Ranto lay upon the ground, his teeth stained with blood, his chest, rising and falling, as if it were bouncing, trying to take in a much desired breath.
“Please . . . please . . . no . . . no, more . . .” Ranto wheezed.
“So, that got me thinking, and you know me, that doesn’t come without a lot effort, that, maybe, just maybe there’s a way to harness more than just Elekai energy? I mean, think about it. We turn food into energy to walk, talk, shit, and eat? Maybe, just maybe, there’s a way to harness that? Well, let’s just say, I’ve done some traveling, I’ve done some drinking, and I’ve done some learning, and I’d rather not get into the specifics, but let’s say, I met someone who thought the same thing. I know, here I thought I had a brilliant, original thought, but alas, no, but, you know what? Let’s not go into detail. I’d rather just use your body as an example!” Gisbo said, as he kicked Ranto in the kidney with the toe of his boot, forcing him to shoot up to a sitting position, and when he did, Gisbo snapped a hand forward and grabbed the big man by the throat, and squeezed.
“Because, you see, if an idiot like me can climb this high through nothing, but all natural human spirit, and a little luck, than guess what?” Gisbo asked, pulling him forward. “You’re nothin’ special.”
Gisbo then released Ranto, who fell back to the ground, writhing about, trying to get a footing, coughing up blood, looking like a wet, beached fish, flopping about in search of water.
