Renegade Rupture (48 page)

Foxblade’s chest exploded in front of Jackobi’s mind’s eye again. He felt his father’s blood sting his eyes and splash upon his uniform, staining it forever. Jackobi had left it unwashed. Now, with one smell, and allowing one tear to fall, Jackobi was taken back to that moment of passion. With gritted teeth, and without repressing one feeling, Jackobi did something uncommon to a Shininja, surprising even Grayn.

He charged . . .

Gisbo stood in the arena next to a man he would now trust with his life, Rake Lokin. They were about to take on the best of what the Strifes had to offer, a father and son duo that wished to change the world to meet their standards of inhumane, unnatural repression of the human spirit. They wanted a world ruled by one sided force, powered by crushing religious and political intolerance. The two boys in blue would give their lives to protect against that . . .

“Assface Junior is mine. You take the old man,” Gisbo said.

“Gladly,” Rake said.

“I’m thinking we keep them apart, finish our opponents quickly, then regroup and double team the one remaining. If you’re in a jam, call out for help,” Gisbo said.

“You mean, if you’re in a jam, you call out for help,” Rake said.

“Rake, was that another joke?” Gisbo asked.

“Close enough,” Rake said.

“You know what, on second thought, this has been a long time coming between me and Assface. Please, even if you finish off Lamik first, leave me with this guy. Don’t interfere if you can help it,” Gisbo said.

“I’ll try, but I’m not promising anything,” Rake said.

“Now, to wait for the word go,” Gisbo said. Narroway stood, realizing that this would be his final order. Upon dropping his hand, a fight would start, and the world would be forever changed . . . if only he knew by just how much . . .

He walked up to Gisbo and Rake.

“Are you boys ready?” Narroway asked.

“I can’t help but feel that something bad’s coming. Like, nothing’s ever going to be the same, ever again. Narroway, when this war starts, how bad is it gonna get?” Gisbo asked.

“About as bad as it can. Got the will for it, Renegade?” Narroway asked. Gisbo smiled. He could never understand how Narroway knew exactly what to say to set his heart racing.

“Damn right I do,” Gisbo said. Narroway smiled and nodded, then walked backward away from the fighters.

“Renegades ready?” Narroway asked. Gisbo and Rake gave the go ahead and the crowd simmered down. “Strifes ready?” The father and son team gave their signal.

“Then without further ado, BE….” Narroway started, but was cut off mid-word.

Something had jumped into the arena.

A hunched, hulking something that may or may not at one point have been someone they all knew made its way forward, dripping. With each step that carried him, the thing had more trouble standing. It wobbled like a drunk and sprayed out a vile, black liquid every which way. The thing raised its head and the sun cast onto a slightly recognizable face, a face only family could recognize. Narroway’s heart skipped and he felt his mouth open and his breath stop.

“Karm? Brother?” Narroway mumbled.

“Peace, brother, peace, peace comes for us all! Finally, I have peace!” Karm said, swaying in place. Now Narroway could see where the constant dripping came from. Every pore, every hole in his brother’s face, was dripping black, Drakeness tainted blood.

He was dying . . .

“Brother, I . . .” Narroway started.

“We are all brothers now! Don’t you see? My hands, my feet, they are no longer my own. They only move for his purpose. Don’t you see? Peace, brother, peace! No more pain, no more suffering! He’s . . . he’s coming! The true king, the morning and evening star, he’s coming!” Karm paused, noticing Gisbo, and what could be called joy lit up his face.

“There! There he is! He’s, the doorway, the doorway, it’s right there! It’s right there!” Karm said, pointing at Gisbo, and with a huge, black toothed smile, the Warlord of Oak County toppled over.

Narroway ran to his brother and caught him, staring at his awful, twisted form. Karm was already turning into a Drakeling, the destiny of anyone unable to overcome the Drakeness. But this was an unnatural, incomplete form. The answer to Narroway’s unspoken question came as dozens of empty cartridges containing the Black High fell from his pockets and bounced about the ring.

“What is this, brother? You’re speaking nonsense! How? How did you get this way? What is the state of Oak County, how . . .” Narroway asked.

“You ask how when you should be asking . . . why?” Karm said, smiling once more. “The doorway, he’s the doorway, and I’m, I’m the key.”

Karm’s features tightened as if something beneath his skin was trying to get out.

“Not . . . exactly,” Karm said, but his voice was of another’s, one thought long gone.

“Impossible . . .” Narroway said. Tears fell from his brother’s eyes.

“Brother, I’ve been nothing but a failure, nothing but a fool. What I’ve done . . . what is about to be… You were the strength I always looked to, always wanted, but could never, could never have. You weren’t the enemy, you never were; I was. I was . . . brother, forgive me, I . . .” Karm started, his normal voice returning. He then gagged fiercely and Narroway couldn’t believe what he saw.

Bone white human fingers, crawled out of Karm’s mouth like an albino tarantula, clawing at the sides of the Warlord’s mouth, cutting off his final words. Like a puppet on a string, Karm jerked upright. From his face all the way down to his toes, like a butterfly breaking free of its cocoon, Karm’s body was ripped away and thrown asunder, leaving only a gateway of blue energy shaped like Karm.

Gisbo froze, staring through the human shaped gateway, seeing the blood red sky and the black, thundering clouds across a desert wasteland for the second time. Somehow, the Reath was open, and through the doorway, a man stepped through, a face from the past. Deja vu struck Gisbo like a fist as the man placed a foot upon the granite floor of the arena and pulled the rest of his body out just before the gateway vanished.

Purah, the betrayer, was back in their world.

“Impossible . . . Why do people say such a thing, even upon witnessing it with their own ears and eyes? Even now, as I stand before you, you don’t trust your very senses? Why?” Purah asked. Gisbo charged up his essence, but Narroway halted him.

“Gisbo, wait, don’t make a move,” Narroway said.

“What!? Why?” Gisbo asked.

“How have you come back?” Narroway asked. “Only the Man-Phoenix can . . .”

“Only the Man-Phoenix can release me, yes, but the blood of his ancestor is in his family, even you, and has traces of the Phoenix. Karm has served his purpose. Unlike you, he was easily corrupted. The first step is complete,” Purah said, sliding a hand through his thick, brown hair. He looked at Gisbo.

“So we’ve come to this, have we, Gisbo? The part where the villain makes himself known and shares his master plan with you. I’ve done it before, haven’t I? I lead you along through the fantasy of saving the day, but not this time. For now, all you Renegades need to know is this: you are in the way. You are beyond hope, beyond Drakearon’s salvation. You cannot begin to understand the peace we offer this world. You are the villains,” Purah said, smiling.

Without a word, Gisbo charged with his Tantos, leaving Purah to block as they pushed their strength against one another’s.

“How did I know you would be the first? Like a puppet on a string . . . Have you learned nothing? Now, let’s get this started,” Purah said. Barely missing a fatal blow from Narroway, Purah raised a ringed hand to the sky. A blast of lightning fell and hit the staging area, cracking it in two and sending all fighters flying from the ring; all except Gisbo, who managed to hold his ground, taking the blast through smoldering, blackened clothes. Purah watched, surprised.

“You are a glutton for punishment, Gisbo. You’ve made my job a whole lot simpler. Thank you,” Purah said.

“I’ll make sure that’s the last thing you ever say,” Gisbo said, throwing Purah off, ready to charge, only to find he couldn’t. Everything he did felt as if he were moving in slow motion. He had felt this way once before, in Foxblade’s gravitational barrier, but nothing like this.

“What . . . what did you do?” Gisbo asked, his words feeling like they crawled out of his mouth.

“Look around you,” Purah said, sheathing his Talon sword. Gisbo tried turning his head, feeling as if a hundred hands were holding it in place. He saw the yellowish tinted field around him. Every Renegade pounded away at it, unable to break through.

“This is a product of my own design. I’ve expelled all of my power for pure defense, but not just any defense: total safety. This energy field comes from gravity itself. With every strike, their energy is sucked into the field, making it even stronger. The harder they push, the stronger it becomes. This is my power, and thus I am unaffected, free to move. You, Gisbo, are right where we need you. Karm was right, you are the door, but so was he. Take a look at that sky, the sun, the blue, the things you take for granted every day. Take it in, drink from it, for soon, it will be no more,” Purah said. He walked forward, unsheathed his sword, and sliced off Gisbo’s headband with a quick snip of his sword, letting it fall to the ground and leaving Gisbo’s exposed Drakeness mark dripping. With each drip, it spread across the ring. Purah then sliced open Gisbo’s arm from his wrist up to his elbow, as blood poured from the wound mixing with the Drakeness in a neat, large puddle on the arena floor.

“The corruption of the innocent heart opens all doors . . .” Purah muttered, closing his eyes and thrusting out his Dark Sybil power. The black and red puddle began to swirl, stretching all around him, forming a giant Drakeness symbol upon the ground.

“ . . . beyond time, beyond space, beyond the elements. All this power lies within you, and yet, you are at the mercy of your own inexperience, no one to show you how to use it. You can only use it by IAM’s decree. You are but a tool of the Gods; they laugh at us, but no longer. Now, Gisbo, you are a tool of man to bring forth a true Deity, one who will do what even the Gods could not. He will give to their creation everlasting life free of pain, free of hardships. Don’t you see? We humans, we’ve outgrown our creator. We need a new God. This is what we need; this is the only way to bring about harmony and perfect peace. Only through Drakearon and his power can we . . .” Purah started.

“You mean through slavery! Without free will, we’ll be nothing but slaves to an egomaniac trying to make up for an asskicking that my Grandfather gave him!” Gisbo said, gritting his teeth.

“You’ve impressed me, Gisbo. To be able to speak in such a state. You are much stronger than I could have prepared for, which means, I’m afraid, your friends will suffer all the more,” Purah said.

“What?” Gisbo asked.

The puddle of Gisbo’s blood and Drakeness frayed out into the symbol of Drakearon, three sixes sharing the same circle. The symbol began to glow, and out of it shot a small, apple shaped orb of energy that melded into reality itself. Through it, the Reath could be seen . . .

“He’s coming back, Gisbo. To save this world from itself. Your power has allowed this. The stabilizing power was absorbed by the arena over these past few weeks. Every battle, every match filled this circle with power, and now, with your blessed blood, it’s ready. The portal has ground. What comes next will be from you. It needs a reaction in order to grow: different elemental energies colliding in one space. Where will the essence come from?” Purah asked, smiling, then pointed to the Renegades battering the outside of the barrier. “From the most powerful warriors on Thera. They will provide the fuel that the barrier needs to grow. You, Gisbo, you will kill them for me, and the portal will be fully realized. Now, relax, it will all be over soon,” Purah said as he reached out with his Mind-Link. Gisbo screamed, pushing and pushing, embracing the rage, embracing his innermost depths of raw fury, and broke through. Even with that mental fortitude, his body was still unable to move.

“You should not have been able to do that. I . . .” Purah started. A voice came from beyond, a voice that caused every striking Renegade from outside the barrier, to freeze.

“Purah, my most faithful friend and follower, calm yourself,”
the voice said.
“If we cannot have the boy’s mind, we will have his body. My weapon, my perfect weapon, I unleash you from your sheath, I unchain your tethers. Go, give in to your violence, your pain, and let others deal with the weight of it . . .
”

“Go . . . to . . . hell . . . you sick, GAH!!!” Gisbo screamed. A gloved hand shot out from the apple shaped orb and began twisting and boiling the Drakeness in Gisbo’s body.

Gisbo’s body, his very skeletal structure, twisted, grew, and changed into something close to his raw, wolf-like form. This time, he was more monster than beast, bigger than before, dripping black. The feral energy of the Phoenix combined with the power of the Drakeness. Some Renegades were sensitive to changes in power fluctuations and they passed out, their minds unable to process the maddening, awful power that now flowed through Gisbo.

At that moment, the barrier dropped, and Gisbo, now controlled by Drakearon like a dog on a leash, charged against his brothers, his sisters, his family and all the while the portal grew, absorbing the essence of every slain Renegade.