Renegade Rupture

by J. C. Fiske

  “SHUT UP!” Gisbo yelled.

  Malik leapt over a large rock. Rather than leaping, Gisbo blasted a ball of fiery essence at it, exploding it into ash powder as he ran right through the remains.

  “GET BACK HERE, YOU BASTARD!” Gisbo yelled.

  Malik was about to break through the clearing and into the courtyard when Gisbo fired a blast of essence from his ring, missing Malik directly, but hitting the ground beneath him. The ground exploded with enough force to send the Strife into a forward front flip straight into the courtyard. Gisbo bounded out of the trees only to see Malik lying on the ground in front of Gisbo’s other most hated enemy, Ranto Narroway. The two of them were looking at each other, eye to eye.

  Gisbo paid his cousin no heed as he jumped atop the downed Strife. With a Tanto raised high, Gisbo thrust it straight towards Malik’s throat. A Flarian essence rope flew through the air, attached itself to the hilt of Gisbo’s weapon, and tugged tightly, preventing a killing blow.

  Gisbo looked up, seething with rage, into Ranto’s eyes.

  “I wasn’t going to stop you,” Ranto said as he pointed. Gisbo followed his finger to see a mass of green-uniformed men before him with the Strife leader, Malik’s father, Lamik Strife. Lamik’s ring was extended, attached to Gisbo’s essence, yanking back hard.

  “Drop it,” Lamik hissed.

  “How about I stick it in your ass?” Gisbo growled.

  “Gentlemen! Gisbo! At ease, AT EASE!” Chieftain Narroway said as he parted the crowd with his hands raised. “Gisbo, let go of the blade, everything’s fine.”

  “Narroway? What . . . but the alarm?” Gisbo asked. “What the hell is going on?”

  “It’s all right, son, please, on your feet and disengage your essence,” Narroway said. Gisbo looked down, eyeing Malik suspiciously, and slowly got off the boy and disengaged.

  “We were told we would be welcomed peacefully, Narroway. This is not at all what we . . .” Chieftain Lamik started when Narroway again raised his hands.

  “This is all but a big, BIG misunderstanding. I assure you, just a mistake. You see, I, well, why don’t I let one who DOESN’T pay attention to directions inform us what happened?” Narroway said, folding his arms and turning around. Knob Brawlda stood shuffling his feet and holding a horn behind his back.

  “Knob? Please, inform the Strifes what three trumpet blasts mean?” Narroway asked. Knob looked up nervously at the group of Strife Elders.

  “Um, three trumpet blasts means . . . an invasion,” Knob said.

  “And what does two trumpet blasts indicate?” Narroway asked.

  “An important meeting,” Knob answered.

  “Tch,” Ranto scoffed as he walked away.

  “Very good. Now, when I tell you to inform Heaven’s Shelter of a meeting, how many trumpet blasts will you blow?” Narroway asked, putting an arm on Knob.

  “Two, sir,” Knob said. Narroway smiled.

  “Nothing but a city of fools . . .” Lamik said.

  “Very good, see? Just a big misunderstanding. Now come this way, and I’ll show all of you where you will be staying. How many more will be arriving throughout the day?” Narroway asked as he shuffled Lamik and his group away and engaged in small talk. Malik looked toward Gisbo with less than his normal fiery gaze, opened his mouth to say something, and Nina burst from the thickets with Fao beside her. Immediately, Malik’s face went white and he spun around and followed his father. Nina rushed past Gisbo with a hand in the air.

  “Malik? Malik, wait!” Nina yelled, but Malik didn’t turn around. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked, staring at the ground.

  “Nina?” Gisbo asked, horrified. Nina turned slowly around.

  “I . . .” Nina started.

  “You know that guy?” Knob asked Nina.

  “Not now, Knob. Go away. Nina, what the hell’s going on?” Gisbo asked. Nina looked from Gisbo to Knob.

  “Hey! I was just . . .” Knob started.

  “Gisbo, it was a long time ago. He . . . he . . .” Nina started.

  “Oh boy, I’m just gonna . . . Yeah, I’ll see ya later, Gizzy. Good luck, pal,” Knob said, patting Gisbo on the shoulder. Nina watched Knob go, afraid to face Gisbo’s eyes.

  “It’s . . . that came out wrong,” Nina said.

  “Please, no, please, anyone, anyone but him! Nina, did you . . .” Gisbo started. Nina walked up to him, grabbed his hands in hers, kissed him on his headband, and looked him in the eyes.

  “Gisbo, I . . . What we have is something very special. I don’t know if it’s exactly love yet, but maybe it could be? Soon? All I know is that I care deeply about you and I know how you feel about him, but he’s really not that bad of a person. He just needs help, help I couldn’t give him back then, and I . . .” Nina started.

  “Cripes, Nina, no, no, no! Please, you and him? Together? I . . .” Gisbo stammered.

  “Ok, fine! Yes! We were, you know, and, yes, he was the boy I spoke of, the one before you, ok? Is that what you wanted to hear? But none of that matters now! That was all in the past; it’s just you and me now! Besides, it’s not really a big deal . . .” Nina started.

  “Not a big deal?! Are you insane? How do you think I feel knowing that whenever I kiss you, whenever I hold your hand, whenever we do . . . oh hell, oh come on! How do you think I feel knowing that whenever I do any of those things, that he’s been there before me!?” Gisbo stammered.

  “Gisbo! Just calm down . . . listen to me!” Nina said as she grabbed for his hand. Gisbo quickly snapped it back and began to walk away.

  “Gisbo! Gisbo, wait! Where are you going? Gisbo! GISBO, PLEASE!” Nina called as she ran and threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight. “Please, don’t go! Please, don’t leave. Let’s just talk about this! He’s not a bad person!”

  Gisbo tried to break free gently, but Nina held on far too tightly. Without much effort, Gisbo broke free from her harshly, sending her down to the cobblestone street. Gisbo spun around, too angry to care.

  “HE BEAT ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS INTO A COMA! DON’T YOU DARE DEFEND HIM!” Gisbo yelled before walking away.

  She deserved that, the voice spoke. Gisbo winced and felt an enormous pressure build up in his head as he walked away.

  “Gisbo!” Nina called.

  She should just leave you the hell alone, the voice said.

  “Just leave me the hell alone!” Gisbo snapped.

  Nina breathed heavily and tears swam in her eyes as she watched him go. It was then that big arms wrapped around her and lifted her up. Nina spun and looked up into Rolce’s soft blue eyes. She couldn’t help it; she fell into his chest and sobbed.

  “Nina? What happened?” Rolce asked.

  “Rolce . . . oh, Rolce, what’s . . . what’s going on? What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with Gisbo?” Nina asked. Rolce looked on after his friend with a solemn gaze.

  “I don’t know,” Rolce said and he followed Gisbo. Rolce quickly caught up with Gisbo and matched his stride, but before he could open his mouth, Crass Bastio and Shaved Davinson ran up to them.

  “You guys see what I’m seeing?” Shaved asked.

  “Strifes are walking around like they own the place! You guys have any idea why?” Crass asked.

  “Not a clue, but it seems like they’re all gathering over there. Look, Narroway’s going to make a speech,” Shaved said. Together, Gisbo, Crass, Shaved, and Rolce followed the green cloaks as they merged in with the blue ones around the same podium that Narroway spoke at just two years earlier for Purah’s supposed funeral. Strifes were mixed in the crowd then as well, in secret. Now they stood, clearly revealed. Shaved noticed Grandfield and Knob motioning for them towards the far side of the crowd, and they joined up with them.

  “Any idea what’s going on?” Shaved asked Grandfield.

  “First of all, what is that red crap all over your shirt? Bleh! Smells like puke, man!” Crass said, waving a hand in front of his nose.

  “This is something called kim
chi, delicious fermented cabbage with lots of spices and a new part of my diet! The reason why it’s all over my brand new Renegade uniform is because this dumbass here blew three trumpet blasts instead of two! I saw green hoods, heard the blasts, and spit out my lunch!” Grandfield said.

  “Hey! I’m sorry, ok! Jeesh! What? People aren’t allowed to make mistakes anymore?” Knob asked.

  “You blew the invasion alarm twice!” Grandfield said.

  “And I used the plural for mistake you, ass! I know!” Knob stated.

  “Quiet, Narroway’s starting,” Crass said. Narroway cleared his throat and began to pace across the stage with Chieftain Lamik standing behind him, arms folded.

  “Quiet down, quiet down, and I’ll explain everything,” Narroway ordered. Everyone did and he took a deep breath before continuing.

  “Thank you. Now, this was supposed to go swimmingly, but because of a certain . . . intern . . . that shall remain nameless, the Strifes’ arrival was mistaken for an invasion rather than a congregation.”

  “Dumbass,” Grandfield muttered under his breath.

  “Fatass,” Knob muttered in return. Grandfield’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.

  “Freakin’ shut up!” Shaved ordered.

  “Now, down to business. As you can see, Chieftain Lamik and I are up here together on friendly terms due to this announcement. The Elekai’ Exhibition has once again returned to Heaven’s Shelter!” Narroway said to a much murmuring, some cheering, and some booing throughout the crowd.

  “No way . . . has it already been that long?” Rolce asked.

  “What’s the Elekai’ Exhibition?” Knob asked.

  “Idiot! It’s only the biggest fighting tournament in all of Thera!” Grandfield said.

  “Guys, it’s not as exciting as you think. It’s blood bound,” Shaved said nervously. Grandfield and Knob stopped bickering and stared at Shaved.

  “What do you mean by that?” Grandfield asked.

  “Warlords started a tradition ages ago where a tournament transpires. The winner of the tournament has a choice: be the new Warlord, or in our case, Renegade Chieftain, or elect a new leader,” Rolce said.

  “Wait, so you mean . . .” Knob started.

  “Yes. Chieftain Narroway, after the tournament, will have to pass the Chieftain Band to someone else. If he doesn’t hold this tournament, and if a new leader isn’t elected, then Chieftain Narroway will die . . .” Shaved said.

  Their group fell silent as they let Narroway continue.

  “Now, now, calm yourselves so I can get this speech done. According to the rules, I, as Chieftain and designated leader by last Exhibition’s winner, Falcon Vadid, get to declare one of three styles for this tournament. The choices, for those who do not know, are Battle Royal, Tournament style, and Event style. Normally I would deliberate with my council now, but for the sake of your patience, I have already decided. This year’s Elekai’ Exhibition will be . . . Event Style!” Chieftain Narroway exclaimed. A perfect mix of cheering and booing met his revelation.

  “The opening ceremony, as is customary, will begin in three days at sunset. Good luck to everyone, and may the strongest lead us into a new, glorious generation!” Chieftain Narroway finished, and he and Lamik retreated into the back room as the crowd dispersed.

  “Ok, who here knows what Event Style means?” Shaved asked.

  “Well, Shaved, you being one of the only two smart people here means that Rolce better know or I’m going to have to do some reading in the library,” Crass said. “Please, Rolce, please tell me you know what this is all about! I hate books! I hate the way they smell, I hate the way they feel, and I especially hate the self-important, self-righteous asses that went about writing them to begin with! Seriously? Who the hell all of a sudden one day was all like, ‘I think what I’m thinking is important. Let’s put it down on paper so others can appreciate me.’ Screw ‘em! Screw ‘em all! Please, Rolce! Help!”

  “That should be the least of your worries. Don’t you see? That’s why the Strifes are here! Should a Strife win, everything, and I mean everything, about the Renegades could change. When the tournament ends, the peace treaty between Chieftain Lamik and Chieftain Narroway will come to an end, and unless a new treaty is declared . . .” Rolce said.

  “War,” Shaved said.

  “Good. Better start getting ready,” Gisbo growled as he left the group and walked away with his hands in his pockets.

  “What’s his problem?” Crass asked.

  “Lady troubles,” Knob said.

  “How do you know?” Grandfield asked.

  “Apparently, that Malik Strife guy was porking Gisbo’s lady before they dated and she never told him about it,” Knob said.

  “WHAT? The same guy who nearly killed Kinny? He’s, he’s here?” Rolce exclaimed.

  “The very same. It was awful, Rolce. I saw him beat Kinny half to death.” Grandfield said. “I think Gisbo’s got the right idea on this one. Better get ready.”

  “But first, what the hell are we getting ready for? What’s the Event Style?” Crass asked.

  “Event Style is just that: four events representing the four elements with one week to prepare in between each. The first event will be announced on Sunday and the event happens the following Sunday. Depending on what team wins each event, Renegade or Strife, they will get a slot in the final event, a Battle Royal with full attributes and weapons to determine who rules over Heaven’s Shelter and the Renegades. Whether we like it or not, all of our lives are going to change come the end of the tournament,” Rolce said.

  “Or it will stay the same. If I win, I’m choosing Chieftain Narroway to rule over us again,” Knob said. “Even though he’s not too clear on directions.”

  “You really think you of all people are gonna be chosen to represent the Renegades in the finals? Grandfield said. “Two blasts for meetings, three for an invasion! How hard is that? We learned that in Perry’s class!”

  As Grandfield and Knob argued, Rolce’s mind wandered. He was bothered by the news, but also by his friend. Gisbo wasn’t just acting weird and distant after the news, but before it.

  “We need to talk,” Jackobi said, suddenly appearing by Rolce’s side.

  “Gisbo?” Rolce asked, knowing full well that Jackobi and Gisbo shared an emotional connection as Man-Phoenix and Sentry, the Man-Phoenix’s sworn protector.

  “Something’s wrong, and it isn’t just woman troubles,” Jackobi said. “I’ll explain everything, but first, we better get Falcon, Moordin, your dad, and mine,” Jackobi said.

  “It’s . . . it’s that serious? Jack, what is it? What’s wrong with him?” Rolce asked.

  “Better I get everyone together first before I say anything,” Jack said as he turned to go. Rolce grabbed his arm.

  “Jack, wait. Just tell me,” Rolce said. Jackobi turned and saw deep concern in his synergy mate’s eyes, then looked to see if anyone was paying them any attention. He took a deep breath and spit it out.

  “I’ve known for some time, but I wanted to see how he would handle it and he clearly isn’t. Rolce, you know I don’t mince words, so I’m just going to say it. Gisbo is infected with the Drakeness.”

  Chapter Three: Everything Burns

  Just beyond the snow-covered fields of the Life End Burial ground, Gisbo stood at the base of large oak. The afternoon sun glistened off his sweat-soaked, shirtless upper body as he went at the tree again, firing off punch after punch, grunting every time his knuckles struck bark and the reverberation from the tree shook his core upon impact. Again and again he hammered away until he felt as if sand filled up his lungs and he both heard and felt his knuckles break open like tiny coconuts.

  The freshly inducted Renegade backed away from the tree, breathing hard, and observed his mangled hands. They looked like he had placed them in a meat grinder. Torn muscle and tissue lazily draped over each moon white bone, and his fingers twisted like bent rake teeth, and then, he felt utter calm drip inside him and watched hi
s hands twist and pop back into place as brand new skin grew over his knuckles.

  The healing sensation was incredible. It stretched out through his entire body, not just his hands, as he felt embraced in a tingly softness and a comfortable numb and pleasure beyond any orgasm. When it was over, Gisbo looked down to see his hands healed, leaving only tiny white scars.

  “Don’t you think you’re overdoing it a little?” a voice spoke. Gisbo turned around to see his Falcon, along with Rolce, Jackobi, Moordin, Foxblade, and Shax, Rolce’s newly returned father. Gisbo eyed them all suspiciously and didn’t say anything. Falcon walked up beside his son and felt along the tree where the dry cold bark was drinking in Gisbo’s warm bursts of blood.

  “Non-Elekai’ training is fine for emergencies where you lose your essence, and hitting trees can help harden and strengthen your knuckles and punches, but this? This is borderline masochistic,” Falcon said. Gisbo ignored the comment and folded his arms.

  “So, did you all come out here just to give me a lecture? Or is there something more to this?” Gisbo asked. Jackobi stepped forward.

  “I know what you’re doing, Gisbo,” Jackobi said.

  “And just what am I doing, Jack?” Gisbo asked.

  “The door, it’s open,” Jackobi said.

  Gisbo was silent and he suddenly found the sky quite interesting.

  “But it hasn’t revealed everything to you as you hoped. It’s not that simple. Most likely it will return to you in pieces; smelling the same air, touching the same spots will reveal your lost memories to you. You already know where it happened: here. You know your mother died. Is that not enough?” Jackobi asked. Gisbo reached up and felt down the tree’s base.

  “Where is my mother’s grave?” Gisbo asked. “I’ve looked and looked, but it’s not here.”

  “It’s in a secret place, to protect you,” Moordin said.

  To protect themselves, not you, a voice whispered.

  “More like to protect yourselves,” Gisbo snapped as he eyed his father. “Save your speeches. I’m outta here.”

  Gisbo turned to leave, but before he could, he felt a tug on his now longer, Renegade length bandana tails. Within a moment, his bandana was off and in Jackobi’s hands.