Renegade Rupture (29 page)

Foxblade stopped his pacing and stood still. The crowd held their breath and watched the Shininja walk forward, calmly, just a few inches shy of Raner’s reach. Foxblade then leaned his head forward, within Raner’s reach, as if tempting him to reach out and snap his neck. Staring into his ice blue eyes, Raner didn’t shake once, didn’t smile, only kept his vision straight.

“What are you waiting for? Reach out and pluck the fruit of victory,” Foxblade said, dangling his head.

Still, Raner did nothing, said nothing. Foxblade leaned back and fell back on one foot, leaning all his weight back on it, and dropped his hands to his side. Gisbo watched as Perry smiled.

“What are you smiling about?” Gisbo asked.

“Foxblade is taking on one of the many adaptable stances of the Shininja. Sparks are about to fly, and once they do, I doubt this fight will last long. Blink and you’ll miss it,” Perry said. Gisbo turned just in time to see Foxblade attack.

The Fox of Blades raised his hand upward from his side, and threw it forward like a spear tip, straight for Raner’s jugular vein. All he had to do was watch Raner’s chest for any movement, any flinch at all. Foxblade saw the Aquarian move, a muscle flex in his shoulder. That’s all he needed. He ripped his hand back as Raner’s rose up within Foxblade’s reach. He had fallen for the feint, like a snake in a hole coming up for the sight of the squirrel or, in this case, the fox. Raner was committed now and reached for Foxblade’s retracting hand, no doubt for victory as both knew that once grabbed, it’d be over. Foxblade’s circling proved just right. The angle, everything fell into place. With one quick spin of his front foot, Foxblade simply fell backward, letting his body weight carry him aside, knowing full well gravity always moved faster than any strained muscle, leaving Raner’s ankle and knees locked into position, only able to fall in one direction.

Forward.

Foxblade took advantage of the opportunity. He saw the pressure point just above the armpit, the auxiliary nerve, the victory strike. Once hit, Foxblade knew that it would overwhelm the brain with signals and shut it down, ending the fight. He went for it with all the speed he could muster. His strike was true, he hammered it directly, knuckles first, but he felt something beneath the skin shatter and absorb the attack. Now Foxblade’s turn was out of control as he was forced into a second of shock upon both the feel and the shattering sound. He had not struck flesh, but ice.

With his free hand, Raner grabbed Foxblade by the wrist. Foxblade felt it lock up, and before he knew it, he was laid out on the floor, his shoulder on fire, looking up into Raner’s eyes.

“Having trouble moving your shoulder?” Raner asked calmly. Foxblade went to roll over, only to realize he couldn’t. Everything had locked up.

“I’d ask what you did to me, but something tells me you cannot wait to explain,” Foxblade said. Raner gave a rare smile.

“Simple. I lost our last fight, fair and square, because I did not know you and your ability to manipulate nerves. It was the one fight I’ve ever lost, and when one loses, they learn from it. I have re-focused my water ability. I can control the water flowing through my body. As it’s 80% water, I have 80% full, mental control over my body. In this case, I sensed your attack coming, hardened my blood at the point of impact, protecting the nerve, and now, from skin to skin contact, I’ve disabled your right arm,” Raner said.

“You’re wrong,” Foxblade said.

“Excuse me?” Raner said.

“You didn’t lose our fight because you didn’t know of my abilities. You lost because you still think fighting is a sport. You have mastered knowledge of limb breaking, rather than kill strikes. A fight is not fair and square. A fight is not fun and games. One either lives or dies, and in the rarest of instances, comes back to do it again,” Foxblade said as he rose to his feet and dusted himself off. He lifted his good arm forward, holding it out.

“My strike, while missing your auxiliary nerve, was not wasted. A true Shininja strike is never blind luck. There’s always a strike behind a strike. Luck, after all, is just preparation colliding with opportunity. Go ahead, you can grab me now if you like. The fight’s over,” Foxblade said.

“What, what’d you do to me?” Raner said.

“Simple. You took a half-measure. I took a full one,” Foxblade said. He raised his gloved hand to reveal the four exploded chambers upon his knuckles that looked like left over firecrackers.

“What, what the hell is that?” Raner asked.

“A gas of my own Soarian design, less dense than air, closely resembling helium molecules. As you said, the body is 80% water, but combine that with my gas, which you inhaled when the coating across my knuckles burst against your ice shield. This gas, was made just for Aquarians like yourself. It reacts to the essence within you. I have specific poisons to kill every race, including my own.” Foxblade said.

“You’re . . . you’re sick!” Raner said.

“And you’re a fool. Your blood is now bubbling like seltzer water. When it reaches your brain, it will overcompensate, and you will cry blood. You’ll have time to wipe away the tears before all goes black. You have five seconds to live. I suggest you take one long breath and look at the sun one last time. It will be the last light you will ever see it,” Foxblade said as he turned his back and walked away.

“No, no, no, no, I . . .” Raner started as he felt the corners of his eyes water up on their own accord. He wiped his hands over them and brought up blood. Then, as predicted, everything went black. He fell upon the ground, dead. Narroway called the fight just as Foxblade stepped out of the arena and made his way toward the bench. He sat down in front of a bewildered, murmuring crowd, unable to mutter a cheer.

Chapter Twenty:
Long Time Coming

The sparks flew high in the air, a two for the Strifes and a one for the Renegades. Narroway faced the green team.

“Strifes, will you pass or present?” Narroway asked. Lamik stood, arms folded.

“We will present,” Lamik said.

“Present?” Perry muttered.

The biggest of the green hooded figures made his way forward until he was upon his line. Rather than rip his cloak off, the man ignited his Flarian essence and eradicated his shroud in a burst of flame. There, within the heart of the firestorm, stood a man never before seen in a green uniform.

Ranto Narroway.

The roar of Ranto’s flames was the only sound in the arena, like a growling beast in a cave. Father and son said not a word, only looked at one another.

“Time to make a decision,” Perry said as he and Narroway both closed their eyes. A second later, Perry turned his attention to his team.

“It’s decided. Rake, get in there,” Perry said.

“I cannot,” Rake said.

“And why is that?” Perry asked.

Rake only pointed.

Perry and the rest of the team followed his finger to see Gisbo within the ring, standing upon his line, fists clenched.

“How did he . . . when did he . . .” Perry started, bewildered. He didn’t even sense Gisbo walk past him. He met Narroway’s gaze with an empty shrug.

Elsewhere in the crowd, Kennis lost her breath seeing Gisbo in the ring, standing across from the monster who had haunted her dreams.

“You . . . you promised . . . YOU PROMISED!” Kennis said, all color flushing from her face. Niffin grabbed Kennis’s trembling hand.

“Gisbo can win,” Niffin said. “He’s strong.”

“No, he can’t . . .” Kennis said, feeling a tear fall down her face, and the thought of life without him sent her inwardly into hysterics.

Narroway stood between both fighters. Now well beyond the time required to start a match, he looked back and forth at the two boys, no, men, family, standing across from one another with bloodlust in their eyes. Several crowd members began to yell “What’s the holdup?” and “Start the match!”

Narroway looked between the fighters, studying the crowd, and found Falcon Vadid, sitting beside Moordin, arms folded, smirking.

“Damn you, Falcon. I will not allow this fight to happen,” Narroway muttered under his breath. “I will not have this! A five minute recess will be taken. The Renegade team wishes a time out.”

This was met by a host of booing as Narroway left the ring to meet with Perry. The two fighters didn’t even notice him leave.

Gisbo stared at Ranto. Years of build up, years of memories, swam before his mind as he let his anger, his fury, his pain channel through him. He rode upon it, feeling his skin and face turn a bright red.

“This has been a long time coming,” Ranto said. “Too bad it will be over so quickly.”

Gisbo only stood there.

“You do realize that family or not, I’m going to kill you,” Ranto said. “You best say your peace now, before I take it from you.”

“Why’d you do it?” Gisbo asked. Ranto looked at him.

“Do what?” Ranto asked.

“Kill Niffin’s dog? Kill her whole world? What gives you that right?” Gisbo asked, feeling his voice tremble with rage.

“Rights come and are deemed by our creator, a creator who does not exist. IAM did not create us. We created IAM. Rights don’t exist to those already free. I’m free. Free to do what I please, when I please because of the power flowing through me. Power brings freedom. Like Groggo, like Niffin’s dog, they were but tools of battle, major tools to be shutdown to give the Strifes an edge. It was my initiation, to prove to the Strifes my loyalty. They are the only group capable of purging evil from this world. The Renegades have fallen lax, indecisive. I have not. Action, that is what this world needs, and that is what the Strifes’ network will provide for me,” Ranto said.

“That, and keeping your man love at bay,” Gisbo said. Ranto’s eyes went huge. Gisbo knew he had touched a nerve and he didn’t care.

“What did you just say?” Ranto asked.

“The fact that you have such a problem with it proves how far gone you are. You’re delusional. Why take offense to something you cannot control? It’s who you are; accept it,” Gisbo said.

“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.”