by J. C. Fiske
“That’s better. Grab my arm,” Foxblade said. Gisbo obeyed, and Foxblade ignited his essence and took flight with Gisbo beside him. They flew at an incredible rate, so much so, Gisbo could not even open his eyes and felt his cheeks flapping. Finally, they stopped. They were standing at a height Gisbo could not even fathom. They were at the top of a massive mountain, standing at the mouth of a cave. Below, Gisbo could see Heaven’s Shelter, but it was mearly a black dot, a tick on the pale flesh of an arm. Gisbo took a few steps back from the mouth as the gravel came loose and dropped so far down Gisbo lost sight of it. He tried to catch his breath and immediately found it hard to breathe at such an altitude.
Gisbo turned around to view the interior of the cave. It was huge and completely circular, as if it were a dome cut perfectly within. Upon entering, Gisbo saw Foxblade lighting several torches hanging from the wall. Gisbo saw all forms of dark stains that were splashed across the floor. He gulped.
Blood? Gisbo thought.
“Congratulations. You are the first to visit my private training ground,” Foxblade said as he ripped off his Renegade shirt and revealed his bare upper body. Gisbo was nearly revolted by the sight of it. A host of white scars in a variety of sizes were cut across his dark skin. Each one glistened in the firelight like rows of diamonds.
“Holy hell . . .” Gisbo exclaimed, unable to take his eyes off the mutilated form.
“Do not think for a moment these are marks from my enemies. I did this to myself, through my training methods. If anything, it is a preview of what’s to come for you,” Foxblade said, turning his back on him to light one more torch. Just as Gisbo thought, his back was covered with scars, as well. He was immediately afraid. He felt himself needing a huge breath of comfort. Breathing hurt and his heart pumped considerably.
“We are almost at the highest possible altitude in Thera for training purposes. If you can adapt to the air up here, you can adapt anywhere, especially in such a low, barren altitude as Flaria. I will hold nothing back from you. From what I saw in the cave one year ago, you are indeed the Man-Phoenix, but you are centuries behind what Vadid ever was. Forget your Berserker class. You embrace the Phoenix class now. With your bum shoulder, you won’t be swinging anything like that clumsy Talon sword ever again. In my opinion, you could do better with any weapon besides that horrid thing.
“I am going to train you in these coming weeks to withstand anything life throws at you. If you survive with me, then you are ready to fight for your survival in this coming battle. If not, then it wasn’t meant to be, anyway. Our first lesson, hand to hand. Only an idiot trusts his life to a weapon, as I’m sure you’ve heard. But first, let’s up the stakes . . .” Foxblade said.
He gripped his fist and ignited his ring. Strangely, he extended his fingers. They were trembling. Foxblade closed his eyes and slowly pumped them into a fist, then extended them again for a total of five times. The fifth time he pulled, it looked like he was straining a lot just to get his fingers to close back into a fist. He breathed a sigh of relief and removed his ring. It still was aglow and, with one light toss, Foxblade bounced it into the middle of the cave. Upon impact, there was a flash of yellow. Suddenly, Gisbo saw something expand from the ring so brightly, he needed to close his eyes. Upon opening them, all he saw around him was bright yellow. He was now standing in a dome of light. Gisbo now understood why the cave was a perfect dome shape. It seemed this power had forced the stone ceiling and walls to bend. Gisbo saw rubble fall from the ceiling and roll down the sides of the barrier they were now standing in.
“So, ugh, what is the point of this thing?” Gisbo asked. Foxblade only smiled.
“Why don’t I show you?” Foxblade said and snapped his fingers. Suddenly, Gisbo felt an immense pressure all about him, as if his whole body had been strapped with hundreds of pounds. The pressure forced him to drop to one knee. It was hard to close his now-dropped jaw. Even blinking his eyes hurt and took some effort. His whole body quavered and trembled all over like a slight seizure.
“What . . . what is this? Ugh, is this how Grandfield feels everyday?” Gisbo asked, wincing and struggling to stand.
“Hmph, and here I thought you would fall flat on your face. You’re even spouting off jokes. You give me a flare of hope, Gisbo. This is a training technique Soarians have been using for centuries. The gravity here is five times that of Thera’s, so everything you do, walking, moving, fighting, will be quite a struggle. By doing this, you will become amazingly strong when you step out of here and descend to normal gravity. That quick burst of power will not be permanent. Just as your body will adjust to this gravity, it will eventually revert back to Thera’s gravity. Even so, this quick powerup will last us both for the coming battle and, even when the effects wear off, you will still be stronger than you were before,” Foxbalde said as he sprung forward with ease. Gisbo saw only a slight grimace on his face as his body began to adjust.
“Now, on your feet and show me what you can do,” Foxblade said. Gisbo pushed and pushed, feeling as if there were some massive foot atop him, trying to slowly crush him. After much effort, however, he rose to his feet with gritted teeth he thought might shatter if he clenched them any harder. Raising his arms, however, was another story. Before he could raise them, Foxblade was already upon him as he lashed out with a straight kick to his chest, sending him to the ground fast. The weight that Gisbo had tried so hard to manage came crashing down upon him as soon as he relaxed his body. It took all he had just to raise to a seated position. Foxblade’s blow still rebounded on his chest, and his breathing became even heavier. Now he choked and coughed between every third breath.
“Are, are . . . you trying to . . . kill . . . me!?” Gisbo wheezed, moisture rising to his eyes. A single tear fell and dented the rock floor slightly.
“Yes,” Foxblade said as he calmly walked forward. Gisbo tried his best to get up and manged to get to one knee up, with his back towards Foxblade, when he felt a kick to his rear that sent him to the ground again.
“Never turn your back to an opponent, even when you fall,” Foxblade said. He snapped his fingers and a jolt of electricity shot from the ring and rebounded through Gisbo’s body. Gisbo cried out with pain until finally the shock left him. He lay there, breathing hard, unable to rise to his feet.
“How . . . how can you . . . expect me to do anything? To go against you!? This is crazy! I’ll be dead tomorrow if we . . . keep this up,” Gisbo said through deep, choked breaths.
“The enemy will not hear excuses. They will only kill you. You think this training to be hard?” Foxblade said. Gisbo didn’t quite know how to answer the question, so he stayed silent.
“I said, do you believe this training to be hard, Gisbo?” Foxblade asked again.
“No,” Gisbo responded.
“You’re right, because we’ve only just begun. Now, on your feet. If you cannot rise, right now, I will snap your neck and kill you where you stand. No more Man-Phoenix, no more Renegades, nothing. Are you comfortable with that? Are you willing to die like the dog you are? Are you willing to say that they were all right about you? That everyone back in Oak County was right all along and you would never amount to anything? That you just got lucky and the Renegades happened to pick you up out of pity? Or are you something more? Prove to me you’re more than a mutt,” Foxblade said calmly. Gisbo gritted his teeth, biting the tip of his tongue in the process. It bled considerably, but he did not care. If anything, it focused him away from the pain his entire body was feeling.
“I am . . .” Gisbo said.
“No, you’re not, you’re weak. You never had what it took. You just got lucky,” Foxblade said.
“Shut up . . .” Gisbo said.
“Your father sacrificed so much for you and now you are going to let him die, just like your mother,” Foxblade said. At this point, Gisbo was breathing hard, not from the tiredness, but from rage.
“Don’t even bother, little boy-phoenix, just stay where you are,” Foxblade said.
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“I said . . . SHUT THE HELL UP!” Gisbo screamed and, with one thrust of his arms, he was on his feet, adrenline pumping through his body like a raging river. With eyes moist and bloodshot, he tried to charge, but could not. In long, lumbering strides, Gisbo stomped toward Foxblade, raising his fists slowly as he went as he fought desperately against the gravity. He was now within striking distance and Gisbo reared back his fist and threw his whole body forward with a yell, but to no avail. Foxblade caught him before he hit the ground and, instead of fighting back, he stood him straight up by his shoulders and looked him square in the eyes. He was smiling.
“You are your father’s son. Let’s get to work,” Foxblade said.
Gisbo and Foxblade went at it for more than three days and only rested when Gisbo passed out. Never had Gisbo been pushed to the very limits of his body. He seemed to hover in and out of life and death. Even so, after a long and strenuous three days, Gisbo finally felt comfortable in the territory. They rarely drank any water or ate. As Foxblade said, there was neither on the battlefield. A few morsels here and there provided by Foxblade’s raccoon were all that provided sustenance. At first, it was all Gisbo thought about, but over time, his thoughts transcended past basic human needs. He was nearing a plateau in his mind as he surpassed fight or flight mode and evolved into something more.
Gisbo’s body began to move on its own accord. Muscle memory, is what Foxblade called it. There was no thinking whatsoever. Gisbo was a natural.
Combinations began to appear on their own and Gisbo felt calmer, more relaxed, and more sure of himself with each passing hour. He was proud that, at this point, he had struck Foxblade a total of ten times. None of them lethal by any means, but he could at least hold his own against the experienced veteran in hand-to-hand combat.
Finally, the two of them stopped what they were doing as Foxblade had to recharge the barrier with his essence so it would not go out. As they waited, Gisbo teleported Fao to the cave with wild game as Foxblade’s raccoon returned with two water skins filled with water from a local spring. Gisbo drank it greedily without restraint, relishing in the coldness that spread down his throat and finally settled in his belly. His body absorbed it like a sponge and, at that moment, he realized it was becoming a bit easier to breathe. His lungs seemed to have expanded on their own in these past days and it didn’t hurt so much to breathe. Not huge progress, but enough to notice the change.
Foxblade finished charging the dome and took a quick swig of water as he strutted toward Gisbo. Without warning, he charged with a straight right kick. Gisbo batted it aside with a swinging downward block, throwing Foxblade’s body off center. Gisbo instictively knew what was coming next as Foxblade’s back leg swung around and thrust outward. Gisbo let loose with a smother block, knocking it downward, and thrust a forearm upward as the spinning backknuckle failed to hit, as well. Foxblade jumped back, a rare smile on his face.
“Gisbo, I am impressed. Tell me what you were thinking during that exchange,” Foxblade said.
“Nothing. Everything just . . .” Gisbo started.
“ . . . moved on its own?” Foxblade finished.
“Exactly,” Gisbo said.
“This is advanced hand-to-hand combat, Gisbo. I am well beyond that, but I know the enemy knows probably nothing more than basic. You have now far surpassed anything you will deal with on that battlefield,” Foxblade said. “Hand-to-hand is your strong suit, I can certainly see that.”
Gisbo beamed with pride. “Gee, thanks.”
“You’ve been doing it your entire life, it is what you are comfortable with. Weapons, however, are an entirely different matter, so don’t thank me yet. It’s strange; you have bulk to you, as a Berserker should, yet you have amazing speed to go with it. A very rare quality I have only seen once before. Before you ask, I’ll answer. Your father was the same way. You can thank him for your genes,” Foxblade said.
“Really?” Gisbo asked.
“Really. Now, I’ll admit. When it comes to hand-to-hand, it is not my speciality,” Foxblade said. Gisbo could not believe this one bit, but kept silent as Foxblade continued.
“Weapons, however, are a different story,” Foxblade said as he retrieved his two daggers that hung from his sheaths, spinning them nimbly through his fingers for emphasis.
“Fists are made for fighting. Weapons are made for killing. Fists can kill, but it is not their strong suit, just as weapons can fight, but it’s not their strength, either. Remember that. You were born with your fists. You’ve learned to use them well. Me? I was born with weapons . . . it is in my blood and must be in yours if you wish to survive this,” Foxblade said.
“Yes, sir,” Gisbo said.
“But this will come later. Your body needs rest. It has reached a limit. If you go any further, you will do damage to it. But don’t think just because your body is resting, your training stops. Your mind does not get a break while we are here. I myself need to train on my own for a while. Two days, and I will return to you. In the meantime, I have an exercise for you,” Foxblade said. Gisbo’s eyes perked with interest.
“What is it?” Gisbo asked.
“Get some sleep. When you wake up, don’t be alarmed of where you might be. Everything is under control. Two days and I will return. Good luck, Gisbo,” Foxblade said as he turned and walked away.
“Hey, wait! Can’t you be just a little clearer?” Gisbo yelled, but Foxblade had already taken flight out of the barrier. “Damn it.”
Gisbo muttered to himself at first, and then he decided to try and get some sleep. He laid down on the cold stone floor. His whole body relaxed and, before he knew it, sleep washed over him. When he awoke again, everything was dark around him, unnaturally dark. Gisbo couldn’t even see outside the cave. He inched forward, crawling on his stomach so as not to slide off the edge accidentally. He didn’t need to. He was trapped as he reached out and felt the edge of the barrier, still intact. Then he heard a scampering behind him and realized he was not alone.
Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he turned every which way to spy something glowing toward the back of the cave. Gisbo was about to crawl to it when the glow came to him. It looked like a small, glowing white puffball, and it wasn’t moving toward him, but hopping. Gisbo eyed it suspiciously. The thing seemed to give off its own light as it lit up the darkness all around it by a few feet like a beacon.
“What the hell’s going on?” Gisbo asked aloud. A few skips later, the little glowball was now in front of him and Gisbo saw exactly what it was. It was nothing more than a little snow rabbit. It looked up at Gisbo, twitched its nose and whiskers, raised its tiny head, and gave out a little sneeze.
“Hey, little guy,” Gisbo said, finding himself talking to it. He stretched out a hand and the bunny immediately scampered to the back of the cave in fear. Gisbo sat where he was, scratching at his head, wondering first off why it was so dark and, secondly, how this little rabbit got here and why, of all things, it seemed to glow in the dark.
“What the hell’s going on?” Gisbo repeated.
Chapter Eighteen: Puff the Magic Bunny
After a few hours, Gisbo was beside himself with pent up energy and lack of anything to do but trying to fight the clammy feeling of gravity pushing in all around him. The pushing kept his mind focused on something to do. Now, however, that feeling was gone as he was very close to getting completely used to the heavier gravity. He found himself walking in circles, whistling, and, all the while, mentally cursing Foxblade’s name for trapping him here without any explanation as to why. And curiouser still was the lone rabbit who shone like a tiny moon. The little rabbit was, at first, deathly afraid of him. Gisbo tried to cautiously get close to it, only to have it sprint to other side of the cave. After burning a lot of his energy trying to catch the thing, he gave up on it.
He knew the poor little thing was scared out of its wits. In the quiet, he heard its little heart thumping in its chest and saw its nose quiver in the way that rabbits do. Gisbo si
ghed deeply and leaned his back against the barrier. At that moment, he very much missed Fao, but without a ring, he had no way to summon her to himself. He tried to sleep, he was tired after all, but as soon as he tried, his mind raced. He thought of Kinny, of Rolce, his Dad, his friends at Heaven’s Shelter who may very well be gone in the coming week. Worst of all, he felt entirely alone, a feeling he would usually love, peace and quiet, but not like this, not in this darkness. Then something he couldn’t quite explain happened. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the rabbit coming closer to him.
He turned his head and, sure enough, the little glowing puffball was hopping its way towards him, slowly, but surely. Gisbo sat upright, very slowly so as not to startle it, and watched as it came within reaching distance, stood up on its hindquarters, and sniffed the air, then sat back down and stared at him, like a little puppy.
Gisbo smiled. He didn’t quite understand how animals did what they did, but every time he was in a depressed mood, they had a way of sensing the situation and setting him at ease. As if the rabbit heard Gisbo’s thoughts, it hopped toward him and, with one jump, was on his lap. It stood up on its hindquarters again and leaned its little paws against Gisbo’s chest and looked him right in the eye, sniffing him. Gisbo slowly brought his hand around the little rabbit’s head and began to scratch the back of its neck. It allowed him this time, even craned its neck for a while before curling into a ball and falling asleep on his lap.
Gisbo stroked the little glowing rabbit, suddenly feeling very much at ease and comfortable in his trapped surroundings. Between the light the rabbit gave off and the softness of its fur and the little squeaks, it was enough to calm Gisbo’s racing mind for him to fall asleep, as well.
When Gisbo awoke again, he opened his eyes once more to total darkness, all except for the rabbit. He had no way of knowing how much time passed, but the rabbit was now seated on its hindquarters off his lap, staring at him once again.
