Renegade Reborn (65 page)

“Because, in that line . . . we weren’t enemies, we were friends, the very best of friends, and, because of me, you, we, it was your idea to fight him as a team, and at the end, you, to save my life, stepped between Drakearon’s blade, and me, to save my life . . . you died, and the world suffered for it, because, because of our friendship, and after seeing that, I knew right then what I needed to do, had to do. I had to make you stronger, I had to bring out your full potential, Gisbo, and to do that, you didn’t need a friend to hold you back . . . you needed a villain . . .

So, I tortured myself, haunted the Malik you knew from this timeline, turned him volatile. I couldn’t risk him befriending you, and then, I broke the alternate timelines by planting the Drakeness Vile, by having Vice kill Shaved, by having Vice take the blame for your mother’s death, all so I could move in the shadows, out of sight, and enact my plans, plans, that still aren’t finished. In the future, you will be able to see the other nuggets of help I have set up, but, after I did what I did, there was one final step . . .

I had to die, and to do that, you were the only one who could kill me, so once again, I surrendered my will, and broken mind over to the Dragon, and like I knew he would, he ran with it, and like I knew you would, you would try and stop me. I know, this plan, it’s terribly thought out, but, my mind, it’s, it’s not what it used to be . . . I tried . . . tried my best with what I had, but what I didn’t expect, was that you would grant me the blessing of draining enough of the Dragon’s blood to bring back my true self, in order, in order to tell you all this, and, to tell you, from the bottom of my black heart, just how, how sorry I am . . . you did wonderfully, cousin. With my journey’s end, yours, can truly begin . . .” Malik said, falling into a coughing fit.

“I, I don’t know what to say . . .” Gisbo said.

“But, you believe me?” Malik asked.

“Yes,” Gisbo said. Malik smiled at this.

“That’s, that’s all I wanted to hear . . .” Malik said.

“No, it’s not . . .” Gisbo said, as he reached down, and picked up Malik’s hand, and grasped it tightly in his. “Malik . . . I forgive you . . .”

At this, Malik’s eyes went wide in surprise. More tears poured down his face. “Thank you . . .” Malik Strife said, as he pumped Gisbo’s hand for the last time, closed his eyes, and found the eternal peace he had searched for his entire life . . .

Gisbo let his cousin’s hand down gently, then, taking off his own bandanna, he lifted up Malik’s head gently, and tied it to Malik’s forehead.

“You were the truest of Renegades, cousin . . .” Gisbo said. He then got up, turned, and faced a stunned crowd, a crowd from which Rake Lokin stepped from, holding something in his hands. He stood before him now.

“I hold in my hand, probably, the only thing, that survived the aftermath of the destruction of Heaven’s Shelter, the King’s Band, threaded, by the feathers, of the Phoenix itself. If you remember, the Strife’s fled the ring, leaving us, the victor. It is our right to name the next Warlord, but, I’ve decided you have no say, and I get to make the decision. If you wish to fight me on this, remember who still has essence running through his veins, and who doesn’t.” Rake said.

“Fair enough,” Gisbo said, as he took in a deep, nervous breath. Jackobi had known Gisbo for a long time, and right now, his whole body language was that of absolute dread. He finally understood now, why Gisbo was behaving with such apathy at the bar. It all made sense.

It was never that he didn’t care . . . this, this was what he was afraid of facing. He saw this coming all along . . .
Jackobi thought.

“Take this band, take the place of Narroway and usher in a new generation of peace and security as we take the fight to Drakearon,” Rake said, holding up the band. “It is your right, it is, your responsibility, just as it is my right, and my responsibility to choose the right man, and Gisbo Falcon? You’re the only man I wish to follow. I choose you.”

It was then, to Gisbo’s surprise, Warlord Ricard stepped forward, and placed a hand upon the King’s Band.

“I know the hierarchy has split in recent years, but, now, with standing power of Warlord of Oak County, I wish to change that. Whether you recognize my authority, or not, is up to you, but now, I pass it up, and instill it into this band. Whoever wears this band, I too, shall follow, as well as the men, and citizens, of Oak County, the result of Vadid the Valiant, my warlord’s, dream.” Ricard said, looking Gisbo in the eyes.

Gisbo Falcon, Man-Phoenix, stared at the band for seemingly a lifetime, and finally, he reached out, took it, and held the priceless artifact in his hands, holding it as uncomfortably as a man whose love had just handed him her purse to hold. From the crowd, Gisbo heard Grandfield whisper rather loudly to Crass, “He gonna be ok? Looks like he’s about to have a panic attack . . .”

“Shut up would ya?” Crass ordered.

Gisbo then looked up at Rake, and sighed deeply.

“You really want me to make an ass of myself? Don’t you?” Gisbo asked, his voice trembling. “Ugh, I’m so tired of talking . . . and I’m sure everyone else is so tired of listening . . .”

“It won’t be hard. Go, say something,” Rake said as he motioned Gisbo past him. Gisbo took a few steps forward, took in another deep breath as he took in the hoard of questioning eyes, twinkling at him like a sea of stars. Gisbo swallowed hard, was about to say something when a breeze wafted across his face, carrying a smell with it, a smell, that caused all the blood to drain from his face . . .

The odor was a perfume for women constructed of juniper berries and various passion fruits, but worn by a man. As soon as the hideously sweet smell hit his nostrils, Gisbo froze where he stood, and his breath became sporadic as he was immediately taken back to the scene of Kennis’ murder.

Only one man wore such a scent.

Gisbo walked forward now, quickly, then, broke into a jog as he fought his way through the crowd, and when he cleared it, and faced the entrance to the courtyard, he couldn’t believe it . . .

Hello again, my dear, Gisbo . . .
Drakearon said within his mind, standing tall, all alone, in all of his golden, glowing radiance in the entrance of the courtyard.

Gisbo’s thoughts were all over the place now, sporadic. He couldn’t have replied even if he wanted to, and he didn’t . . . all he wanted to do, was charge, and tear the head from the Man-Dragon’s shoulders, an act he knew was impossible in his current state, which frustrated him all the more as he stood, fists clenched, nearly foaming at the mouth, summoning every ounce of self-control he could muster.

I sense that from your point of view, you have received a small victory here today. How beautiful, how inspiring that the beaten dog comes back to save his tormenters. I can sense the people’s hearts. They are, truly moved, but, let me show you, just why I do, what I do, why I need to do what I do. People’s hearts, Gisbo, they are as fickle as the winds. Watch, as I undo, all that you’ve done . . .
Drakearon said, his mask hiding the smile on his lips.

“A wonderful display of action from the Man-Phoenix and his Renegades on this day! The saviors of Oak County! I believe they deserve an applause, do they not?” Drakearon asked, as he clapped his hands in a slow, rising, clap, and then stopped, as he gazed out at the wide-eyed, intense stares, reveling in the attention. “You there, the older gentleman. You’ve been alive, have seen much in your days . . . tell me . . . do you know who I am?” Drakearon asked, pointing. The elderly man, slacked jawed, coughed a little to clear his throat.

“Y-yes . . .” The old man said.

“Tell me, what’s my name?” Drakearon asked.

“Dah-Drakearon, it’s Drakearon . . .” The old man said. Upon the mentioned name, there were audible gasps, and disbelief from the crowd.

“Yes, yes, it is I! The terror of Thera! The tormentor of dreams! At least, that’s what one version of history tells you, the perverted history that Vadid tried to share, but luckily, his wise son, Karm, he showed all those who would listen, the truth, did he not? Even among you, I can sense the enlightened! Those of my Holy Chosen who were promised of this day, who believed, who had faith of my return, for you, I have brought a gift! And for those who are still unconvinced, mayhap, this will change your minds. It is a gift for you as well . . .” Drakearon said.

Gisbo watched as Drakearon raised his Dragon Blade to the sky, the blade that had stolen his love’s life. It was then, sensing his discomfort, Jackobi appeared at his side, and held him back.

“Don’t even think about it. He’ll kill you. Patience.” Jack said.

“I . . .” Gisbo started, when suddenly, his whole vision went white. Something hit his face like a sludge hammer, nearly forcing him to his knees. His head pounded and sparkles in a variety of colors went up before his vision even though his eyes were closed, and then, the pain began to disperse, disappear, and that’s when he heard the screaming, but to his surprise, they weren’t screams of terror, but rather . . . of joy . . .

“It’s back! It’s back!” A woman cried, sniffling in-between her words.

“A miracle!” Another cried.

Gisbo forced his eyes open, only to have to close them again, and blink furiously, and little by little, his surroundings cleared, and he was blown away by what he saw.

The sun, the bright blue sky . . . it had returned.

The strange merger of The Reath, and Thera, had been eliminated by the man who brought them together in the first place, and all around him, people ran, danced, skipped, hugged, and cheered, but Gisbo, as well as the Renegades, couldn’t rejoice, or say a word, but Drakearon could, and did.

“Ladies and gentleman, please, I assure you, there is more blessings where that came from, but first, may I ask, who writes history? The winners of course, and I am quite sure, you have all heard of the horrors, the atrocities, that I have committed, all in the name of peace, fairness, and equality.” Drakearon said, making his way forward, walking past Gisbo to get closer to the crowd behind him.

“I will keep this brief. Here today, stood the Man-Phoenix, and the Renegades. Look at them. Admire their strength, for these few are all that are left of an elite, fighting force. Elite, because, they are special, unlike all of you . . . Why are they special you ask? Because, they were fortunate, born great for reasons unbeknownst to us. I am not here for those born special. What I am here for, is for people like you, the ones, who were not, born special, the ones, who were not lucky in the genetic lottery. It is to you all that I speak now, the lame, the poor, the deaf, the dumb, the weak! Need I go on?

All of you are stuck with a hand you are forced to play, for the rest of your days, with no chance of getting a new one. Well, I am here to tell you, that is no longer the case . . . You’ve seen what I can do with the sky, and that’s just the start! I can make the lame walk, the poor rich, the deaf hear, the dumb speak, and the weak, STRONG! Equality is preached, but rarely is it put into practice.

Look at you all compared to these Renegades. Would you call them equal to you? Of course not! The politicians, cowering up in their tower. Are they your equal? Of course not! Are either the Renegades, or your leaders, or the Man-Phoenix able to bring you up to their level? Of course not, but, there is one who can . . . and if you are interested in true, real equality and change, then all you must do, is listen to these final words, and decide for yourself what you want out of your gift of life . . .” Drakearon said, as he turned to Gisbo, then back to the people.

“It has been said, that the biggest flaw of the human race, is our desire to be Gods, without the means to do so . . . but now? Such a phrase is outdated . . . come, follow me, and I will make you Gods!”

And with that, Drakearon turned and began to walk toward Gisbo, who shook all over, his chest rising and falling like a bull ready to charge, locked behind a gate.

“Not all will follow of course, but I think you’ll be surprised at just how many do. Eventually, we will both have to discuss the result of Vadid’s death, and what it means for the two of us, but, until then, stay alive my weapon. I’ll be in need of you again soon. I know you believe me to be the greatest threat to planet Thera, but, as you will soon realize, I’m just one of many bumps in the night . . . ‘til next we meet, Man-Phoenix.” Drakearon said as he strutted past him, and toward the courtyard entrance. As soon as he passed through, the crowd began to stir.

More than half the citizens of Oak County that day, with hope in their hearts, left their possessions and homes behind to follow the angelic, golden haired man out of Oak County, and into what they believed, a new life.

Gisbo watched them all go, his heart aching at just how many people left, ready to believe in Drakearon’s lies, but could he blame them? The life of freedom was hard, filled with pain, loss, and suffering. Could he blame them for wanting to re-write the rules? A simple, “no” echoed through his mind . . .

“Ah, screw ‘em!” Grandfield shouted as he left the crowd and stood in front of them, raising his voice high. “My heart hurts for those who’ve left, but it also leaps at the site of all you still here! Now, I don’t know about you, but what I just witnessed here, gives me cause for some celebratin’ and by celebratin’, I mean beer! Let’s crack the kegs! Raise our mugs high! Thera doesn’t end here, it begins! And if I’m going to toss back a few drinks, I want it to be with all of you! The bravest men and women of Oak County, ready to cling to something as old, and outdated as freedom! Who’s with me?!”