Renegade Rupture (36 page)

Beside him was the youngest team member. Falcon knew it by the way the green cloak wrapped around him, but he wasn’t prepared for what lay underneath.

Knob Brawlda revealed himself in his new green uniform, and Chieftain Lamik smiled.

“BASTARD!” Falcon roared. “COWARD!”

“Strategy,” Lamik said. Knob Brawlda stepped up into the ring as his father’s face turned white.

“My boy? That’s, that’s where he’s gone!? My . . . no, no, no, NO!” Brawlda wailed. “FALCON! DON’T DO IT! PLEASE! PLEASE!”

“Lamik . . . you bastard,” Perry said.

“Knob . . . why?” Falcon stammered. “What, what is this? You? You were the one who killed Kimjow? You were the one who . . .”

“Shut up!” Knob said. “What’s done is done. I’ve had enough of all of you! YOU WILL ALL PAY! ALL OF YOU!”

Falcon and Knob took up fighting positions, and Falcon’s heart, once emblazoned with passion for his friend, now dwindled at the thought of possibly killing a boy who was picked on and full of rage and frustration, desperate and confused.

“Knob, what is this? This isn’t you. You’ve let Lamik’s words twist you! Knob, please, reconsider this. It’s not too late,” Narroway started.

“No! Stop putting words in my mouth, stop telling me how I feel! The butt end of everything, EVERYTHING!” Knob said.

“KNOB! LISTEN! Lamik, he’s using you! He’ll toss you away as quickly as . . .” Narroway started.

“NO! YOU LISTEN! YOU LISTEN FOR A CHANGE!” Knob screamed. “All of you, you need a wakeup call. You needed this. This was a long time coming! I just wish I had done this sooner! A self-made man, that’s what a Renegade is! I’m making myself one, right here, right now. So shut up, and start the damned match!” Knob yelled.

Narroway stood, unmoving.

“Start it!” Knob said.

“How, how could I not have seen this . . . to not know the hearts, the true hearts, of those closest to me. I’ve failed you, Knob. On every level. I’m, I’m so sorry . . .” Narroway said. “But, that being said, you’re a man, a man with choices. You have made those choices and they cannot be unmade. Free will, even if it doesn’t coincide with our wishes, is what we fight for. I will give you what you wish. And, Knob Brawlda?”

Knob looked at his recent mentor, who had tears at the corner of his eyes.

“I wish you all the best,” Narroway said. With a heavy hand and heavy heart, Narroway started the match.

Falcon didn’t move, only stood at the ready with his hand over his shoulder, watching Knob. The boy hid it well, but he was beside himself with fear. His knees shook, cold sweat dripped down his head, and his palms were soaked as he wiped them off on his pants, hovering over his coated steel pole-arm. Once powered up, Falcon knew it could pierce him as easily as any dagger.

He’s desperate. If I underestimate him, take it easy on him, he will kill me,
Falcon thought.

Knob took a few, awkward steps forward; they were not the steps of a Naforian, but a man out of place. He lacked the natural skill for such an event. Why would Lamik choose him? Falcon snuck at look at Lamik, who stood there smiling. Did Lamik know something about Knob that Falcon didn’t? Was it all just a ruse? Falcon looked at the boy awkwardly moving closer, trying to judge the distance. Over the years, he had studied countless fighters and the way they moved. In no way was this boy faking his fear. Falcon thought of his heavy Talon sword. How on earth was he supposed to hit him with it without killing him? This was exactly what Lamik planned.

“Damn you, Lamik,” Falcon breathed, when Knob, beside himself with fear, embraced the fight or flight thought process. He knew full well that there was no flight for a Strife.

“Don’t do it kid,” Falcon muttered under his breath.

With a yell, Knob sprinted straight toward Falcon, powering up his pole-arm in his hand, raising it, ready to throw it like a spear.

He’s lost it . . . I have no choice; I have to,
Falcon thought. It was then he noticed something glistening on the newly inducted Strife’s belt buckle. It was a red, and it was blinking. Falcon’s heart leapt into his chest as he saw Lamik raise his hand, a red ring attached to his finger. The Renegade knew he had but one way out of this now . . .

Falcon threw his Talon sword with everything he had in him, so much so that he nearly pulled his right arm out of its socket. Falcon followed his throw and met Knob halfway, running as fast as his feet would carry him.

It would be close, so very close.

Falcon’s aim was true. It missed Knob by mere inches, soaring at its true target.

Chieftain Lamik.

With a dodge only a seasoned warrior like himself could muster, Lamik dove to one side as Falcon’s giant Talon sword flew straight over his head, taking a sliver of flesh and hair off the side of his skull. Lamik fell, clutching at his slight head wound as his hair soaked up the blood like a greedy, dark sponge.

“YOU BASTARD! DIE, FALCON!” Lamik screamed as he tightened his fist and ignited his Flarian essence.

An explosion shook the entire arena. It was no Elekai’ attack. It was a Flarian bomb, Soarian designed. A bomb cleverly placed on Knob’s belt.

Lamik looked up to see the flower-like blast erupt, but something was wrong.

The blast was too high.

The dust settled, and with it, a point for the Strifes appeared upon the board. Now in clear view, Falcon stood with his ring finger high, protecting both Knob and himself. Knob’s pole-arm was embedded through the meat of Falcon’s right leg and Knob’s pants were down around his ankles.

“No, NO!” Lamik screamed.

Knob stood, beside himself, face white as a ghost as he looked down at his pole-arm stuck in Falcon’s leg, an accidental strike that pierced last year’s champion, his enemy, and the one who saved his life. Falcon reached down and, with a grunt, pulled the pole-arm free. Knob watched as black, oil-like threads shot all around the wound like a spider web. Within moments, the wound was perfectly healed. Falcon presented the pole-arm to Knob with a smile on his face.

“You, you saved me . . .” Knob asked, tears in his eyes. “Why?”

“Maybe I understand someone like you, more than you’ll ever really know,” Falcon said.

“No, after what I’ve done . . . Lamik, he said, he said, I . . .” Knob cried out.

“Easy, son,” Falcon said.

“Knob! GET BACK HERE! NOW!” Chieftain Lamik screamed. Knob took one look back at Lamik with a snarl, then up at Falcon.

“He told me that this belt, the way it shined would distract your aim and would protect me. Never did I . . . the things I’ve done,” Knob said, falling to his knees, his face in his hands.

“Don’t thank me, kid,” Falcon said as he turned around and began to walk away. Knob ran past him and jumped before him.

“KNOB!” Lamik screamed.

“Wait,” Knob said.

“Hm?” Falcon asked.

“I know your story, I know all about you. I never wanted this. Just tell them all, tell them all I’m so sorry. I was just,” Knob started.

“I can’t do that. You dug your own grave, and only you can rise back out of it,” Falcon said. He made his way back and sat down upon the bench without a word to his teammates, leaving a bewildered Knob alone on the fighting ring, but not for long. Lamik charged forward and grabbed him by the arm.

“I always knew you to be dumb, boy, but deaf, too? Come with me, we have . . .” Lamik started when Knob, with a speed he himself didn’t believe, spun around and struck Lamik right across the chin, sending the proud Chieftain straight to the punishing granite floor.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

Knob stood over him, breathing hard, went to say something, but couldn’t muster a syllable. A single tear fell down his face as he quickly walked the other way, hopped off the arena floor, and sprinted out of the stadium and out of Heaven’s Shelter to a destination unknown.

Chapter Twenty Six:
The Name in the Desert

“Cripes, that’s loud,” Gisbo said, as he sat up, his head ringing with explosive cheering. He lifted himself up from the bench he was draped over to see Falcon sitting morosely, his hands folded and his eyes closed.

“What’d I miss?” Gisbo asked. Falcon looked up at him. Falcon started to answer, but he noticed the rest of the team looking at Gisbo. Falcon searched all their gazes, trying to find the words, anything to describe what just happened to Foxblade, to Knob, but in the end, he didn’t need to. Shaved made his way over with a smile on his face and sat down beside Gisbo.

“You just missed some Strife guy punch out Chieftain Lamik!” Shaved said with a grin. Gisbo’s face exploded with a smile.

“What? No way! Gah! Why the hell did I go all out like that? Damn it! I would have done anything to see that! And . . . jeesh, why’s everyone so glum?” Gisbo asked, looking around as people paced, arms folded, shuffling their feet.

“Um, well,” Shaved started.

“They’re focused, Gisbo, as you should be,” Perry said, arms folded in front of him, not turning around.

“Right, sorry. So, who’s up?” Gisbo asked as he raised his hands and stretched with an obnoxious groan and yawn.

“I just won the die roll. It’s their turn to present their fighter. We’re on the final match,” Perry said with his back to Gisbo, who looked up at the scoreboard to see the Strifes with one, and the Renegades with two.

“Final match? Already? That bastard Foxblade finished his match, I see. He couldn’t even stay and support the team? What a bum,” Gisbo said.

No one said anything, nobody even looked at him. Gisbo felt his stomach churn.

“Guys . . . where’s, where’s Foxblade?” Gisbo stammered, feeling his chest heave and becoming light-headed, his dread turning into all-out panic.

“Focus, Gisbo. If the Strifes win this match, they tie our wins, and all our work will come out to a series of our best die rolls,” Perry said. Gisbo leapt to his feet and ran to Perry, only to see his eyes red with tears, tears in the eyes of the biggest hard ass Gisbo had ever known.

“Perry . . .” Gisbo muttered. He looked all about at his teammates. Nobody met his gaze until Falcon stood up. With fresh tears in his blue eyes, he spun Gisbo around to face him.

“Gisbo . . . Foxblade is no longer with us,” Falcon said, the words falling out of his mouth.

“He’s, he’s . . . gone?” Gisbo asked, feeling his heart pound like a hammer against his chest, his hands shaking. His face went from white to red with rage.

“Who? WHO DID IT? WHO!?” Gisbo screamed. “I’ll kill him!”

“No, son. It is not your battle to fight. It is Jackobi’s . . .” Falcon said. “There will be time to grieve, time for avenging, but that time is not now. There is one more match, and we must give support. We cannot allow all our hard work and Foxblade’s sacrifice to come down to a series of die rolls.”

Gisbo froze, shaking with rage.

“Be still, son,” Falcon said.

“Nobody can beat Foxblade, nobody, this . . . what the hell?” Gisbo asked, bursting into tears.

Team Strife presented their fighter, but he did not come up to the stage alone. Instead, he was accompanied by two large Strifes. Chained and shackled, with a steel mask without eyeholes, the fighter was tall, had an average build, and had long, mangled, crusted hair that grew all the way down past his knees and hung over the front and back of his shoulders like a decrepit cape. His skin was bleach white, as if he hadn’t seen sun in centuries, and his tattered clothes looked as if he they were just pulled from a manure pile.

“Mother of . . .” Falcon started, shocked.

“Who the hell is that?” Gisbo asked.

As if hearing Gisbo’s question, the man’s head snapped up towards Gisbo. Gisbo didn’t quite know how to put it, but he felt the man’s gaze upon him like a cold chill on a winter morning. Rake’s words from last year repeated in his mind.

A killer recognizes a killer.
Gisbo shuddered.

“Perry . . .” Falcon said.

“I know,” Perry said. “Jag Davison. Join me by my side.”

“It’s Shaved, sir,” Shaved said as he joined Perry.

“Of course it is,” Perry said. He pulled Shaved aside. “We’ve discussed it all in deep length, son. You are the only one at the present with the skills and calm collective to face this . . . let alone our last remaining fighter to force a win.”

“Face what?” Shaved asked, looking out at the man.

“Perry! I cannot allow this!” Falcon said, stepping forward. “I will face him! I NEED to face him!”

“And what then? Break the rules? Encourage the Strifes to do the same? We can’t have it, Falcon! This is the reason for this tournament!” Perry said.

Falcon stood, shaking. Perry walked forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know how personal this is for you. I realize this is unexpected, what with the Strifes throwing the darkest depths of Glaknabrade right at us. But we, you, must rise above this. Think of the big picture. Right now, Shaved is the best option we have.”

Falcon didn’t say a word, only turned and walked back to the bench, his head lowered, foot tapping furiously. Perry turned to Shaved.