Renegade Rupture (39 page)

“Let me ask you something, Gisbo. How does a group of people become known as the greatest and most powerful? Easy. Their strength outperforms most any situation. Most. Me? I am no Renegade. I am no Strife. I was born with my hands and my mind, and that is all I require. I grew up fighting with my fists, much like you. I do not hide behind a name, I do not hide behind a title, I do not hide behind ideals. I am simply me. I gave you a chance to kill me, and all your Renegade training has summed up to nothing, nada, zip. But I don’t blame you. Much like you, Gisbo, I am special. I know what you are . . .” Vice said, leaning in and whispering in Gisbo’s ear, “ . . . Man-Phoenix.”

“How, how could you possibly know that? What the hell do you want from me?” Gisbo asked through gritted teeth.

“I want what you want, and what you want is to kill me. But you can’t do that, can you?” Vice asked.

Gisbo growled.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, I’m going to give you what you want, but with anything given, something is lost. Such is the nature of life. Whenever something is given, something is taken away from someone else. Now, here’s the deal. You either come with me, right now, and leave this political tournament behind you or, I go back the way we came and I kill everyone and everything you hold dear, saving that buxom blonde of yours for last,” Vice said. Gisbo’s eyes went wide with madness as he breathed harder and harder.

“I love that look! You’re angry. That’s good. That’s real good. You need to embrace what you feel, be yourself, and deep inside, we can’t help it. We are all monsters. Some just hide it better than others,” Vice said.

“Shut up,” Gisbo said.

“Gisbo, listen to me. You have a mission to achieve in this life, and it cannot be done while you stay with the Renegades. What you need to do cannot be done with the morals and values they’ve taught you. The Renegades have grown weak and comfortable. They are nothing like they used to be. The Renegades only kill when they have to, not when they NEED to. You have no idea what is about to come your way. I do. I have all the answers you seek, about your mother, about your pain, about what happened to you, why you’re different, and why the Renegades hold it all back from you, why, like a tool, they continue to manipulate and use you.” Vice Dastard said, folding his arms. “Now, you already know what will happen should you choose wrong. I’ve given you options; what is your decision?”

“Eat a dick,” Gisbo said. At that moment, Fao dove from the bushes and came within inches of Vice’s throat, only to freeze in mid-air, jaws chomping. Vice laughed.

“And just like that, your trump card is no more,” Vice said.

“Not quite,” Gisbo yelled as he pulled Fao’s essence from her. He rolled and pounced upon Vice, stabbing both of his daggers into his pectorals. Vice lost concentration and Fao fell to the ground weakly with a whimper. Gisbo kicked out with his front foot straight into Vice’s stomach, freeing his blades and knocking the man onto his back. Breathing hard, Gisbo ran to Fao and lifted her up in his arms, fearing for her life. He felt her warm tongue lap his face, signaling she was fine.

“You had me worried, girl. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Gisbo said. “And as for you . . .” Gisbo turned to have it out when he realized the man who had fallen just ten seconds ago was gone. He spun all around and backed into something hard and solid. He spun about to see Vice Dastard standing before him, a familiar thick black ooze pouring out of both of his wounds.

“The Drakeness?” Gisbo sputtered. Within moments, the would-be mortal blow, just inches from his heart, left only tiny white scars behind.

“You’re more resourceful than I thought, kid. Well done,” Vice said. “Now to pour some hard truths on you.”

Vice lashed out with his mysterious power, lifting Gisbo and Fao up and throwing them into the side of an oak tree, hard.

Gisbo winced, unable to move even a finger, as Fao whimpered in pain. Vice pressed them deeper into the tree. Gisbo heard the oak crack and felt splinters dig into his back and draw blood, but that didn’t bother him. What bothered him was Fao’s crying and whimpering.

“NO! Don’t hurt her! PLEASE!” Gisbo screamed as he watched Fao’s head turn unnaturally to the left.

“DAMN IT, NO!” Gisbo screamed.

“Then stop me,” Vice said, arms folded.

“I . . . I can’t!” Gisbo screamed.

“What? I can’t hear you,” Vice said.

“I CAN’T! I CAN’T, OK!? PLEASE!” Gisbo screamed.

“Exactly,” Vice said. “Do you want to know why your father has such mental toughness? No, mental toughness is too weak a word. Mental tenacity is better. How, even though his body is beyond spent, limbs broken, he manages to continue to step forward, despite all odds?” Vice asked, getting so close to Gisbo they were now face to face.

“Because he had to learn to fight me,” Vice said. Fao squealed in pain, screeching unnaturally. Tears of rage poured down Gisbo’s face.

“Please, please . . . don’t hurt her,” Gisbo begged.

“No, I won’t stop. You have the power to end this, so end it!” Vice ordered. “Embrace who you are! Embrace the monster within!”

So much self-control, so much patience learned, and in a moment, Gisbo dropped it all, allowing his innermost feelings and disposition to take over.

He saw red.

Gisbo broke free and he threw all his pain, all his suffering into a single punch straight at Vice’s throat and ignited what remained of his essence. His fist went straight through the man’s voice box and out the other side in an explosion of crimson and black. Vice fell backward, grabbing at his ruined, fleshy, open throat as Fao dropped from the tree with a crash and final whimper. Gisbo ran to her, disregarding Vice.

“Come on, girl, come on, it’s ok,” Gisbo said. “It’s . . .”

Gisbo felt white pain wash across his vision as something hit the back of his head, so hard he felt his brain smash against the front of his skull. He was forced into a roll, and when he sat up, he looked into Vice Dastard’s face, his throat healed.

“Look at my face, kid,” Vice said.

“No,” Gisbo said.

“Look at it, see the similarity? Your rage, your animosity, your quick hands and reflexes,” Vice started.

“SHUT UP!” Gisbo tried getting up.

“It all makes sense, doesn’t it? We are so alike! Hm, how do I say this, how do I reveal this without getting all cliché? Eh, what the hell, I’ll just come right out and say it. The man you know as Falcon Vadid is not your father,” Vice said, leaning in closer, grinning from ear to ear with a crazed smile so much like Gisbo’s.

“I am.”

Chapter Twenty Eight:
A Widower’s Lament

Gisbo couldn’t speak. His mind raced and spiraled about, trying to tie the pieces together, anything, anything to…

Vice Dastard burst into hysterics, and Gisbo was instantly brought back to the day Falcon arrived at Oak County to take him and Rolce away and played a cruel joke on them.

“Oh, wouldn’t that have been something? The look on your face! It’s just too much . . .” Vice Dastard roared as tears rolled down his face.

“You’re insane,” Gisbo stammered out.

“If only it were that easy, kid, if only,” Vice said as he wiped moisture from his eyes. “I needed that. If you’re going to come with me, and you will, we can’t be antagonistic. Now, down to business. You saw how quickly I decimated you and all your power. That’s just a fraction of my abilities, a taste. Do we understand each other, kid? Now, how about that deal?”

“I . . .” Gisbo stammered, weighing every option. As if feeling his doubt, Vice walked toward Fao and reached down, ready to finish the job he started.

“NO! NO, DON’T! PLEASE! I’LL COME! I’LL COME WITH YOU!” Gisbo yelled. Vice rose up to his full height and walked over to Gisbo.

“You really have to get over your sentiment for animals. You ripped out your cousin’s eye over it. How awful. Now, go gather your things, and when you are ready to go, I need you to do one thing before you head off,” Vice said.

Falcon Vadid lay in his bed, arms folded behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. Unable to find the sleep he craved, he forced his mind to comprehend and accept all that happened within the day. The death of his best friend, the death of his son’s close friend, and the reveal that after fourteen years, Vice Dastard was still alive, well, and back from the deepest, darkest depths of Glaknabrade prison. It was all so much to handle, so much to take in, and he literally felt his tainted, Drakeness ridden blood rise and press up against his skin, wanting release.

With a growl, Falcon rolled out of bed, grabbed a hand-wrapped cigar from his dresser drawer, walked out into the kitchen, grabbed a six pack of cold beer from the icebox, and made his way out to the front porch. He sat in his rocker, staring out across Nora Pond, named for his deceased wife.

The night air was cool, with a slight breeze that sent tiny ripples across the water’s surface, making it twinkle in the moonlight as the frogs peeped and chirped.

Falcon sighed, lifted his ring finger up, ignited it, and lit his cigar, inhaling deeply. He let the smoke fill his lungs before blowing it out in a thick plume, already feeling the pressure under his skin give way and relax. Subconsciously, in moments like these, he reached up to feel the pendant given to him by Vadid the Valiant himself, only to once again discover it was gone, passed on to his son’s rightful hands. He smiled at that and slid down deeper in his chair, taking in the peace of the night. He heard the front door swing open and out walked Shax Holiner, who sat next to him, a finely carved pipe in his hands. He handed it to Falcon, who lit it, then handed it back to him.

“I hate those things. Can never keep them lit,” Falcon said.

“You just don’t pack it right. It’s an art form,” Shax said, puffing away at his pipe.

“I’ll admit pipe tobacco smells and tastes better, but it’s such a damn chore keeping the thing lit and clean,” Falcon said.

“I enjoy the maintenance. It relaxes me,” Shax said.

“You know what relaxes me?” Falcon said, as he inhaled the rest of his cigar and tossed the butt away, raising his hands up.

“See, all clean,” Falcon said as he reached into his pocket and retrieved another.

“Hm,” Shax muttered.

“Trouble sleeping?” Falcon asked.

“Sleep has never come easy for me, but now, well . . . does it ever get easier? Will it ever . . .” Shax started.

“No,” Falcon said.

“I see,” Shax said, leaning back in his chair, puffing away at his pipe. Falcon raised a bottle of beer toward Shax.

“But this helps,” Falcon said, smiling. Shax took it and tossed it back for a quick slurp. “Having the Drakeness in you, it never gets easier, but as time goes by, you get stronger and it becomes manageable.”

“I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to stay with you. You’re the only one who understands, and I couldn’t, I just couldn’t return to my old house. Too many memories, too many . . .” Shax started.

“Trust me, old friend, it goes without saying. Just as you don’t need to apologize for knocking me out,” Falcon said.

“I never thought we’d be at this point in our life at our ages. Widowers, smoking and drinking every night just to cope,” Shax said, sighing.

“Speak for yourself,” Falcon said, grinning.

“Do you still miss her?” Shax asked.

“Every day,” Falcon said. “You?”

“Every day,” Shax said. “If you don’t mind me asking, I mean, I know many women, right now, who would be all over you within seconds. Why not accept their advances? Why stay lonely? Why not find another?”

“I’ve had many people ask me that. When you had a love like me and Nora’s, well, anything less . . . You just can’t ever go back. She was my everything. I truly believe that IAM made her just for me . . . no one else could replace her,” Falcon said.

“I sort of, understand that reasoning, but don’t want to believe it. I’d rather not be stuck here, next to you, the rest of my days,” Shax said.

“Could be worse,” Falcon said. “Imagine if Moordin never married.”

The two laughed at that.

“I do miss the old Moordin, but I know that he’s happy,” Shax said.

“Mm. You know the old saying that it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all?” Falcon asked.

“Of course,” Shax said.

“Or how love is all you need?” Falcon asked.

Shax nodded.

“All bullshit.” Falcon said.

“What makes you say that?” Shax asked.

“Maybe I’m just a bitter old man, but when you had what Nora and I had, there’s no recovering from that. When you’re single, it’s ok. You don’t know what love is yet, but once you cross that fence, know what it’s like having the love of another in your life, there’s no going back. Hell, I wish I could go back and tell my younger self to just stay the hell away from those pretty little things called girls, live in ignorance. Sometimes, I wish I never met her. Life, it’d be easier going, but only . . .” Falcon started, then smiled.

“But of course, then I wouldn’t have Gisbo, and without Nora, I probably would have died a long time ago. Listen to me complain. Poor ol’ me, pah! Some say that love gained, then lost, is the biggest pain to ever overcome. You’re not a man until you can get over that kinda hurt. Some never do. I disagree. The pain of love, true love, lies not in its loss, but knowing who sets your heart afire and realizing that you can’t ever be with them again. No one will ever make me feel the way Nora did. I’ve made peace with that, and it could always be worse. I loved her so much. That’s the problem with finding your soul mate. No one else will ever do,” Falcon said, raising a cigar to his mouth.