Renegade Reborn (50 page)

And that’s when, to Gisbo’s amazement, his Grandfather, cleared his throat, closed his eyes, transporting his mind back to that smokey dungeon of a bar, and with the last of his strength, belted out a song in a thick, beautiful, baritone and with each rising verse, tears, upon more tears rolled down his old, wrinkled face, as well as Gisbo’s younger one . . .

And now the end is near

So I face the final curtain

My friend, I'll say it clear

I'll state my case of which I'm certain

I've lived a life that's full

I've traveled each and every highway

And more, much more than this

I did it my way

Regrets, I've had a few

But then again, too few to mention

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exception

I planned each charted course

Each careful step along the byway

Oh, and more, much more than this

I did it my way

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew

But through it all when there was doubt

I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all and I stood tall

And did it my way

I've loved, I've laughed and cried

I've had my fails, my share of losing

And now as tears subside

I find it all so amusing

To think I did all that

And may I say, not in a shy way

No, oh no not me,

I did it my way

For what is a man, what has he got

If not himself, then he has not

To say the words he truly feels

And not the words he would reveal

The record shows I took the blows

And did it my way

The record shows I took the blows

And did it my way

“So song, and beer makes you cry, interesting,” Vadid said.

“I love you, Grandpa,” Gisbo said, wiping at his wet eyes. Vadid sputtered out a cough.

“I love you too, Grandson, now, when, when I go, don’t go back to the liquor. Take the pain, use it, make it yours, then process it later, the right way! You know how . . . I . . . oh, Gizzy, a hell of a time these past five years have been. Use them wisely. Help those who can’t help themselves, love those who don’t love you back, and above all else, life? Do it your way, as I, I did it my way . . . ” Vadid said, as he closed his eyes, took in one last breath of his home planet’s air, held it, then let it go.

Vadid the Valiant died that night, his dreams, fulfilled.

In Flarian custom, when one is born from the flames, they must return to them. Gisbo Falcon stood now, watching his Grandfather’s remains burn upon a humble funeral pyre with the moon, the stars, and Fao to give witness, as his ashes returned to the world that birthed him.

Gisbo stood, straight up, and watched that fire burn until it was nothing more than a smoldering, black pile, and when no light remained, he felt it again, the weight of destiny upon his shoulders, realizing that now, the fire of Vadid had passed to him, and even as he stood idly, two armies, lead by two of his greatest enemies, were converging upon Oak County, his childhood home, to destroy it.

Gisbo looked up to his moon and stars, standing alight, standing as valiantly as the man who had brought them back, and took in a deep breath of the cool night air.

“Do it my way he said . . .” Gisbo started, when suddenly, his face grimaced, grew tight, and his eyes vibrated with righteous fury as he held up his Phoenix blade, entranced by gleaming red letters that spelled out his name across the blade. He then looked down at Fao.

“Girl? I don’t know of any other way . . . I hear Malik and Ranto are in the same place right now. It really must be my birthday! Head into the tower for now, girl. I’ll be needing you soon.” Gisbo said. Fao barked in response, and Gisbo ignited his ring and sent her away to the gardens below the treehouse.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a golden glint within the sky, reflected off the newly revealed moonlight. It was falling, and with that, Gisbo Falcon, Man-Phoenix of Thera, took seven steps forward and ignited his birthright, surrounding himself in roaring, blue and white fire, as two energy structured Phoenix wings sprouted from his shoulder blades, and with one push of energy from his heels, he launched himself into the night sky and took flight, as if, he had done it a million times before . . .

Chapter Twenty Four: Out of the Black, into the Blue

From Rolce’s perspective, it seemed that it took an eternity to watch Purah Brennan, simply, walk up and out of the now nearly pitch black arena, injured, limping, but free as a bird, and then, all at once, as if time never slowed at all, it came back. The first thing Rolce felt, was the sudden rush beneath his feet and feeling his heart jump up into throat. Then, came the screams . . .

We’re falling, the city, it’s falling! MOVE!
Rolce thought, but before he could force a step, he felt a huge body slam into him, and tackle him from behind.

“GET DOWN!” Lady Seveara said, as she now lay on top of him. A broken piece of scaffolding that had once held the Soarian Power Source, had fallen, and smashed into the place Rolce had stood just less than a moment ago.

“Lay down flat, it’s the only way now, hold onto me, Rolce,” Seveara said, as she used the Soarian device on her person to order everyone else to do the same. Amidst the screaming, the people heard the voice of their leader, and did as they were told, and prepared for impact.

Feeling powerless, and drained, Rolce found himself looking into Seveara’s eyes, if anything, just to feel the closeness of another person. If he was to die, he was not going to do it alone. He felt his hand wrap into hers, then squeeze tightly as they braced for impact, when suddenly, Rolce felt his heart lowering from his throat. No doubt about it, somehow, impossibly, they were slowing.

“How is this . . .” Seveara said, feeling the sensation too, when there was suddenly a wicked lurch that threw them all forward and tumbling about like marbles in a round jar. Emergency battery lights flickered and sparked, and then, with an ear splitting creak, the arena was bent to one side, sliding people down rows of seats, and sliding Rolce and Seveara down, along with the sand of the arena, up against the arena wall, which was now tilted at an angle, then, there was silence.

“Are you ok?” Seveara asked.

“Yeah, amazingly enough, how did we not crash? It was as if something, something . . .” Rolce started.

“Caught us?” Seveara asked, saying the word Rolce was thinking, but did not want to say out loud. The two of them locked eyes with one another, went to say something, when suddenly, someone dropped in front of them, wielding two daggers ignited in yellow essence.

“Not out of the woods yet, look around us,” Jackobi said. Only when Rolce focused his eyes did he notice. Pouring out of the doorways, the vents, and the hole in the rooftop, were rivers of flashing white eyes, and black bodies of various sized. Some chittered, some chattered, some screeched, some roared, but all of them charged like some sort of rabies infested mad zoo.

“Drakelings? Here? But, he, he promised! He PROMISED!” Seveara said, anger rising in her tone.

“Can you still fight, Rolce?” Jackobi asked, helping Rolce to his feet.

“If I’m standing, I’m fighting . . .” Rolce said.

“They’re everywhere,” Jackobi said, as screams of people being attacked, and mauled by the black creatures echoed throughout the arena.

“Surrounded on all sides.” Rolce said. “Lady Seveara, stay close and,”

“What do I look like to you? A maiden in distress? These are my people, my home. Throw me one of those daggers, Jack,”

Jackobi looked at her for a long moment, then, tossed her one of his Soarian daggers which she caught nimbly for her size, before igniting her essence in a roar of Soarian energy that sounded like a lioness on the hunt, and with gritted teeth she flew up into the stands, and slashed and stabbed at everything that looked at her wrong with an incredibly long reach.

Jack quickly shoved Rolce’s Pole-arm into his stomach fiercely, causing him to emit an OOF noise.

“Snap out of it. She’s got that stairwell, you take the one to her left, I’ll handle the two to her right. Kill anything that isn’t human.” Jackobi said, and with that, he too flew away and dove into the fray, moving in a zig zag pattern, like a firefly, over both stair cases, slashing, and slicing.

By now, several other yellow lights had appeared within the stands, giving their all to defend themselves, their city, and those closest to them from the sudden black invasion, and Rolce wasn’t about to let them fight alone.

With his essence spent, Rolce leapt into the fray, spinning his big-pole arm with one arm, only to realize the weight of it, and pain of it, was too much to bear without having his essence to help. In a quick maneuver, he leaned his pole-arm at an angle against one of the benches and brought down all his weight right in the middle, snapping it in half, and picking up one side, while leaving the other behind to continue his fight, as he blocked an advance from a Drakeling with a charge from his good shoulder, saving a little red-headed girl in the process. The Drakeling, stunned, fell on its back, and Rolce brought the sharp part of his broken pole down right into the little beast’s gaping mouth, and out the back of its head. The Drakeling squealed, gurgled, then lay still, but Rolce didn’t have time to savor his kill.

At that same moment, three Drakelings of varying sizes tackled him, with the one in the lead having a crocodile like mouth. Fortunately, just as Rolce fell onto his back, he managed to catch the monster’s mouth, and it was now a fight to keep the big, strong jaws from closing around his throat, but in his moment of focus, he forgot about the other two Drakes, who repaied him in kind, one by biting him on the calf of his leg with teeth that felt serrated, while the other, bit into meat of his shoulder with rows upon rows of little teeth.

Rolce screamed at the sudden pain that shot through his body like a fire bolt, but rather than ignore it, he embraced it, and rode it into an adrenaline induced strength. He now twisted the croc headed Drake’s head to the left, giving it his all, until he heard a series of snaps, and the Drake no longer moved. However, the dead Drakeling was quickly replaced by the creature who had bit into his calf, and with an odd call, halfway between a squeal and a screech, the Drake summoned half a dozen smaller Drake’s to its aid as they all pounced upon Rolce, until he was pinned down, unable to move, each of them digging their little mouths into him, shredding him open like piranha.

Not like this, for the love of IAM, not like this!
Rolce thought, and crying out, he tried to find any remnants of his Naforian energy, but there was nothing. He was bone dry and to make it worst, he knew he was losing blood, fast. The world began getting blurry. He tried to take a deep breath, but felt as if a rusty fork was lodged within his throat. Rolce quickly rolled over, trying to squish the little things, only to receive a scratch from a house cat-like Drake across the right side of his face, as another jumped on the back of his head, and pulled back his blond hair back, so fiercely, Rolce’s whole head hovered in the air. He couldn’t yell, he couldn’t move, his essence was gone, and now, looking across the arena, he saw the yellow lights of the Soarian’s going out, one by one. He remembered he asked Moordin once, in one of their many deep conversations on how he believed the world would end. Without any doubt in his mind, Moordin said, “In darkness . . .”

Darkness wasn’t just coming. It was here, and with it, came the end. That’s all Rolce could see now along with those horrible, glinting white eyes, glowing like cursed moons of various cycles . . .

In Darkness . . . how appropriate, how . . .
Rolce thought, but then was interrupted. It seemed his Class Master wasn’t finished . . .

“In darkness . . . but . . . that’s only when there is none left, to bring the fire.”

Suddenly, in every doorway, it seemed a red sun was bursting through, then, like a lava flow, they came running down the stairs, bellowing curses, flashing blazing red weapons, and tearing into the Drakelings as if their very existence, their very purpose, was to keep darkness at bay. And just like that the screams of fear, turned into cheers of relief.

The Flarians had come!

Rolce, paralyzed by exhaustion, watched as the Flarian’s went at the Drakelings like a cure for a disease.

“OY! Rolcey! That you mate?” A familiar voice spoke.

“Phil?” Rolce asked groggily, looking up to see Phil’s face, upside down, looking down at him. With one quick blast, he disintegrated the dozens of Creatures upon Rolce, and dropped to one knee beside him.

“Aye, you look about as good as a bear in a beaver trap, Rolcey-boy. Come, come, let’s get your ol’ tick lump outta ‘ere!” Phil said, and without effort, he hefted Rolce’s over three hundred pound frame up over his right shoulder as if he were a sack of potatoes, and didn’t run, but leapt, in one bound, to the top of the stairs, and made his way through the doorway to safety.