by J. C. Fiske
“There is NOTHING I cannot control. Everything within my grasp, within my power is mine to control, even you!” Ranto said.
“People like you sicken me, always have. Putting yourselves on high horses, talking down to everyone. I hate it, hate everything about it. I know just how to bring you back down to reality, Ranto. I’m going to show you pain that you cannot suppress, cannot control.” Gisbo said. He then held up his tattoed arm and placed a finger on his second band.
“You let me get this band way back then. You told me that it would be a reminder, that I would always look down at my arm, and know full well, for the rest of my life, that I wouldn’t be a Renegade if it weren’t for you.” Gisbo said, pausing. “That being said, I wanted to thank you, because you’re the reason why I’m standing here today,”
Ranto looked at him with a cross look, but didn’t answer. Gisbo then smiled wickedly.
“And you’re gonna regret ever letting me get this far,” Gisbo said, pointing. Ranto spit upon the ground.
“Pah! You haven’t known your place since you arrived here, cousin. You hate people like me? I cannot even comprehend nor fathom people of your station. You don’t control anything about yourself. You go through life on a whim, without any control, without any preparation. You’re a slob, you’re wild, you’re temperamental. You’re everything I’m not. You’re an unevolved dog. And like a dog, like that mongrel of your friend’s, I will grasp your neck, hold it in my hands, cradle its warmth, its last breath, and then snap it like a . . .” Ranto started. Then he felt something he hadn’t felt since his battle with Phil just two years prior.
Pain.
With all the speed he could muster, Gisbo ignited his essence and flew at Ranto, throwing years of pent up hatred, aggression, and anger into one concentrated punch. It connected with the side of Ranto’s chin, sending a shockwave through his facial structure.
So . . . fast . . . how . . . Ranto thought as his head rebounded downward, to the side, only to be lifted up once again from a fierce uppercut, snapping his head back. Pain exploded down his spine and before he could right himself, he felt another burst of pain in his stomach. His breath left him as Gisbo’s knee dug further and further into his gut, so hard and fast he felt his organs squish against bones and felt blood rising up his throat and out of his mouth. Then, impossibly, he felt himself being lifted, all three hundred and fifty pounds of him, along with a vicious, vibrating scream that entered his ears and reached the deepest parts of him, stunning him.
Gisbo, now grabbing the hunched over Ranto by his neck, ran forward with him and flipped all his weight forward. The big Strife was at gravity’s mercy now as he slammed into the rock floor, splitting it upon impact.
“NO!” Narroway screamed. He went to jump into the ring, but was halted by Perry’s hand.
“Do not interfere,” Perry said.
“Perry, I . . .” Narroway started.
“This is beyond you or this tournament now. They are men. Warriors. Either way, both fighters are now fighting without your go ahead. Each team will take a double loss as the rules state, but to stop this would do them both a disservice,” Perry said. “They have to get it out of their systems.”
Narroway looked on as he saw his son upon the ground, dusty, battered, and coughing up blood.
“Your son needs a wake-up call, and I think Gisbo is just the one to give it to him,” Perry said, but Narroway didn’t hear him.
Ranto stared at the crimson pool on the ground and the sun glinting off of it, sending sparkles before his eyes. Most fighters would have ignored the pain thundering through him. Ranto embraced it, and as he did, his vision went as red as the blood.
“Made me bleed, Gisbo . . . made ME bleed . . .” Ranto said to himself in disbelief as thoughts of his first ever embarrassment came to him. It may have just been an eating contest, but Gisbo called him out and embarrassed him in front of all of Heaven’s Shelter, and how he . . .
He heard Gisbo behind him.
Out of instinct, Ranto, turned around and launched himself forward like a charging bull, catching Gisbo in the stomach with a shoulder spear. With all of his strength, and there was a lot of it, he lifted Gisbo up, going with the momentum, and slammed him down upon the granite.
The big Strife laid on top of him now and shoved a hand on Gisbo’s throat and squeezed while bringing back his other hand, ready to hammer it down, when his groin area suddenly erupted with a pain that only men could understand.
Gisbo, in desperation, grasped Ranto’s manhood with his right hand and squeezed as if trying to crush two grapes together.
Ranto yelled and cursed as tears sprung to his eyes. He puked blood and bile on to Gisbo’s face, collapsing, but the Renegade wasn’t fazed at all as he continued to squeeze, willing to continue until Ranto’s eyes popped from their sockets.
In an equally desperate maneuver, Ranto found he could only raise his head. Once raised, he dropped it down with as much force as possible straight onto Gisbo’s forehead. The shock, forced Gisbo to let go.
Ranto lay atop him now, fighgint to fill his lungs with air and managed to take a quick, deep breath, only to feel strong, vice like hands on the side of his head. Gisbo had lifted Ranto’s head back up and with much strength, brought it back down upon his own. Like two coconuts, they smashed against one another and Ranto saw fiery sparkles, then white flash across his vision. One head was quite harder than the other.
Gisbo screamed maniacally as he slammed Ranto’s head against his own, over and over, laughing until both of their foreheads split open and blood poured from them. Ranto’s eyes began to roll back, and only by sheer will and pride did he thrust adrenaline into his brain and prevent unconsciousness. He had just enough strength to roll off of Gisbo, already ruing his mistake of pinning him down.
He’s crazy . . . absolutely insane . . . this is, this cannot be him, this is not the same Gisbo . . . Ranto thought as he tried to rise to his feet and fell upon the ground. When he did, he looked up, half expecting to see Gisbo on his feet, ready to go at him, but Gisbo was having just as much trouble standing, slipping on wet blood with his rubber boots.
Ranto pushed, found the strength he needed, and would have stood up if it wasn’t for the laughter, the sickening, crazy laughter coming from Gisbo. Horrified, Ranto looked at him, slipping and falling, laughing at his own helplessness as if he enjoyed every minute of this, as if he was born for this, and images of Phil’s lightning fast punches and equally crazy laugh ran through Ranto’s mind.
Ranto dismissed the thought, gritted his teeth, and began to find stable footing.
“I am Ranto Narroway! Grandson of Vadid the Valiant! My blood is pure! My blood comes from the son of Vadid, not from the daughter! Not from you crazed McCarley’s! I am all! I am power incarnate! YOU ARE NOTHING!” Ranto screamed. Reassurance flooded through his body as he found strength to stand, and his hazy vision became clear as Gisbo found his footing as well, stumbling across the arena, and the two charged at each other again.
This time, Ranto used his height and reach to his advantage, striking from high to down low in a fierce kidney shot, forcing Gisbo to arch to the side. Ranto used his free hand to strike Gisbo’s right cheekbone, snapping his head to the left. He was about to use a straight strike to knock Gisbo off his feet once more, but Gisbo rode the jerk of his body and came back with a vicious back knuckle, hitting the tip of Ranto’s nose, snapping it off to the right. Gisbo followed it up with a vaulted; spine aligned, double-handed palm strike of his own design, straight up into Ranto’s chin.
If Ranto was the same height as Gisbo, he would have fallen to the ground unconscious, taking the full burst of his shot directly. Luckily, his height saved him as Gisbo was forced to overextend, and unalign his spine, to reach him which cut off the majority of the strike’s power. Ranto took the blow, then rode gravity down and came back with an elbow straight into Gisbo’s nose, smashing it and activating his tear ducts, forcing him to shut his eyes.
/> With that one, free, priceless second, Ranto wrapped Gisbo up in a sleeper hold, using one hand to cover Gisbo’s mouth, and squeezed his broken nose even harder between his thumb and index finger, not allowing him to breathe. In six seconds, Gisbo would pass out.
Ranto counted down as Gisbo thrashed like a leashed, rabid animal. The big man lifted Gisbo off his feet to prevent any leverage, positioned his legs to block any attempted groin hits, and shoved his face into Gisbo’s neck to prevent any lucky face strikes.
It was over. Ranto knew Gisbo could do nothing. No matter how strong one’s will was, once the body was locked, there was no escape. Finally, he would be rid of this little blight, this insect. Gisbo’s arms stopped flailing. Finally, finally he would . . .
Ranto then felt two fingernails slide across his face, then plunge into both of his eyes. Gisbo’s flailing arms had ceased, not out of exhaustion, but to find new targets. Ranto screamed so loudly into Gisbo’s left eardrum that it burst. Blood poured from it as Ranto’s grip loosened and Gisbo’s fingers went further into Ranto’s eye sockets. In a wild spin, Ranto threw Gisbo from his grasp, while Gisbo grasped something of his own.
Ranto’s right eye.
The eye popped out as easily as a weed pulled from a garden. Blood, rather than dirt, sprayed every which way. Ranto continued screaming, his hands covering his empty, dripping eye socket, as dust and stinging beads of sweat dripped down into the empty hole and straight into his head.
Gisbo tossed Ranto’s blue eye aside and leaned forward, letting his loose footing carry him, fighting unconsciousness. Ranto managed to throw an arm forward to defend against Gisbo’s advance. Muscle memory took over and Foxblade’s training proved true.
Gisbo thrust his right arm into an outward block, throwing Ranto’s strike off-balance. With a yell of rage, Gisbo pinned the Strife’s right arm against his own chest and Gisbo threw his left fist straight into Ranto’s kidney, causing him to squeal like a pig. Gisbo allowed his right arm to release Ranto’s pinned arm and hammered down onto the same kidney again. Ranto doubled over in pain, but Gisbo did not stop. He pulled Ranto’s arm out of the way and thrust his right palm upward, right beneath Ranto’s chin. He both heard and felt a satisfying crack and bent down, slicing at the back of Ranto’s right knee with a chop, collapsing it forward. Gisbo finished by kicking the back of Ranto’s other knee, causing him to drop down on both of them.
Ranto, on his knees, looked down to a steady stream of blood dripping from his empty eye socket, open mouth, and busted nose right next to a different colored stream.
A black one.
Ranto, before losing consciousness, looked up to see the black, triple-six swirl on Gisbo’s head, causing his one remaining eye to bulge in surprise, before Gisbo swung out with a roundhouse kick toward the back of his head. Ranto’s face snapped forward, splashing into his own blood, unconsiuos.
Gisbo quickly picked up his bandana and tied it back on, barely hearing a deafening crowd as he took three steps forward, felt arms wrap around him, and met the calming, serene eyes of Kennis Flora.
“Sorry,” Gisbo said. All rage, all pain left him as he let his body relax. His essence left him, and he blacked out.
Chapter Twenty One: Kimjow’s Murderer Revealed
Gisbo awoke in a familiar, yet bone-chilling place. The hospital of Heaven’s Shelter. Once he realized where he was, he took in the sleeping people around him. Across the room from him in what was known as a Soarian lung, lay Kinny Kalloway, beaten into a coma by none other than his ex-girlfriend’s current boyfriend, Malik Strife.
He then thought of his current girlfriend, went to move, and felt a weight on him. At first, he thought it was Fao, but instead, draped over his lap was the love of his life, Kennis Flora, sleeping soundly. To his right, laying in a bed, was a man no longer in his green uniform, but in a white medical robe, hooked to dozens of beeping, whirring, elemental powered machines with a patch over his right eye. Gisbo stared at Ranto Narroway, and then at the machines, watching them beep and force the Strife’s chest to rise and fall.
“They’re saving him,” Gisbo muttered. A thought crossed his mind then to unplug every machine and just let him die, but before he could, Kennis awoke with a start, opening her blue eyes and fluttering her eyelashes like butterflies. All temptation, all hostile intent left him as he locked onto that calming, sky blue twinkle. She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Hi,” Kennis said, biting her lower lip.
“Hey there,” Gisbo said, stroking her golden hair. “So, I . . .”
Suddenly, she let go of him, and Gisbo felt a slap across his face.
“Ow! Kennis, what the . . .” Gisbo started, when he was hit with another, then another, and he finally caught the third one. “Hey, listen, I said I was sorry!”
“NO! You listen! When you promise me something, Gisbo Falcon, it’s sacred! You promised me you wouldn’t fight him. You promised! You could have died!” Kennis said.
“I . . .” Gisbo started.
“Admit it,” Kennis said. Gisbo paused for a moment, then looked up at her with a hurt expression.
“I take promises very seriously, Kenni, but before I promised you, I promised Niffin something, a promise I couldn’t keep . . . without breaking yours,” Gisbo said.
“What? What are you talking about?” Kennis asked.
“Niffin’s dog, Kimjow. She told me to punish his killer, to bring justice. I did just that,” Gisbo said.
“Then you mean . . .” Kennis said, looking over at Ranto. Gisbo nodded. Kennis snapped her gaze back to him.
“Then you don’t know . . . wait, of course you wouldn’t know! You’ve been out for a full day!” Kennis said.
“The tournament!” Gisbo shouted. “What happened? What . . .”
“We lost, Gisbo,” Kennis said. Gisbo’s eyes went wide.
“What? HOW!?” Gisbo asked.
“Rake went up against a Strife and killed him, but fell out of bounds. He lost on a technicality,” Kennis said. “Then Gilfrid, it was close, but he got beaten too. You and Ranto were disqualified outright.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!? That’s . . .” Gisbo started.
“But that’s not what I’m talking about! Ranto didn’t kill Kimjow. Narroway, he told me that he was a spy! Working for the Renegades. We won the first two bouts because of him and his information! He’s been meeting with Lamik since the beginning of this tournament feeding him false info! Ranto’s a monster, but he was loyal to us all along. Somebody else killed Niffin’s dog!” Kennis said.
“That’s a lie! I . . . I saw, I saw Ranto out there the night her dog was killed. The Drakeness, it showed me images of him, horrible things, of Ranto breaking Kimjow’s neck and . . . are you saying . . . it lied to me . . . it LIED to me . . . showed me something that wasn’t real, that wasn’t there, all to . . . For what?” Gisbo asked.
“No, Ranto was out that night trying to STOP it. He arrived too late, but he knows who did it. Until he wakes up, that person is still among us, planning, feeding information back to the Strifes, and,” Kennis started. Gisbo rolled out of bed, stormed over to Ranto’s bed, and leapt atop him, grabbing him by his robe and shaking him up and down.
“WAKE UP! WAKE UP NOW, YOU ASSHOLE!” Gisbo screamed. Kennis leapt at Gisbo.
“Gisbo! Gisbo, don’t! What are you doing!?” Kennis asked.
“He was just a monster to you a little while ago. Who cares? The guy’s still an evil green pussball! Killing his synergy mates! WAKE UP DAMN YOU!” Gisbo screamed as he slapped Ranto’s face from side to side. “Who was it!? Who did it!? WHO!?”
A blast of fire knocked Gisbo off the bed and sent him rolling along three others before hitting the wall. Dazed, Gisbo shook off the pain and rose to his feet, realizing his uniform was smoldering, only to see Narroway standing in the doorway, his giant Berserker sword extended, still smoking from the blast he sent his way.
“Sit down, Gisbo,” Narroway ordered.
“Narroway! Listen, he knows! He . . .” Gisbo screamed.
“Sit. Down,” Narroway said. Gisbo complied in a huff and sat, folding his arms.
“Kennis Flora, if you would leave us, please,” Narroway said.
“Um, I,” Kennis started.
“Now,” Narroway said.
“Yes, right away, sir!” Kennis said. She left the room and closed the door, leaving the two of them alone with the unconscious others.
“I assume you heard the news?” Narroway asked.
“He knows,” Gisbo said.
“No, not about that. Of our loss in the tournament, a loss that is yours to bear. Because of you and your rush at Ranto, you gave your team a loss. You put yourself and your own vendetta above your own brothers and sisters, your family. To do . . . that,” Narroway said, motioning to Ranto’s beyond beaten and broken form.
“You’re blind to him, Narroway. He may be family, but he’s evil. What he did to his synergy mates? I know everything! I may have been wrong about Niffin’s dog, but that doesn’t matter! What? You think that just because you’re Chieftain you can harbor a criminal and not bring him to justice?” Gisbo asked.
“You know everything, do you?” Narroway asked.
“Kennis and Kinny saw him, Narroway, saw him beat his friends, his own synergy, to death,” Gisbo said.
“And just like that, from one eye witness account, you jumped to your own brand of justice because you did not think me capable? You think that I am in my position because I fail at justice? Is that what you’re suggesting?” Narroway asked. “What your girlfriend witnessed, and apparently has kept to herself, was indeed Ranto killing his synergy mates. That happened. Ranto was placed with those boys because we suspected that they were the Holy Chosen’s way of trying to infiltrate the Renegades, learn of our powers, our ways, to better destroy us. They are not just a cult, they are a group, solely under Drakearon’s control, and their mission is to recruit and destroy . . . us. Those boys were zombies for their cause, their minds already lost.
