Renegade Reborn (13 page)

His goons led the way now through the hustle and bustle of the thousands of chattering criminals, some who didn’t know of life beyond the Scar, and others who sought out the Scar for just about any desire of the flesh available that was frowned upon on the surface, and their civilized world of laws, taxes, and morals, but even over the drugs, and the lust, there was one desire, one need above all others, the need, to see or partake in violence, and Loony, was a master of the trade.

But now, his business was threatened, and he knew that he needed to get this fighter on his team by any means possible, or soon, the fights would be non-existent. He wished he could kill him, but he couldn’t. The man had grown far too popular, nearly God-like in the reputation of the scar. The criminals would riot, no doubt suspecting foul play and would immediately look to the one with the most to gain.

Himself.

Loony had always believed that for every fighter, there was always somebody stronger, but that belief was quickly snuffed. Loony had thrown everything he could at
him
, and every time, it was if he were throwing a treat to a dog, and like a dog, he didn’t even say thank you.

“Hold up, Tick-Tock. This is the place. Sure of it,” Dano said.

Before them was a long alleyway cut into the canyon. The torchlight at the end of it revealed, just barely, a small cabin neatly pressed against the sides and back of the canyon, fitting within the crevasses like a puzzle block.

Tick-Tock said nothing, only grabbed a torch off the side of the wall, lit it, and moved his way forward, lighting up the pathway fully, where thousands of shards of glass glistened in the firelight upon the ground, some clear, some dark brown, some green. As they got closer, the smell hit them full on, a mix of black mold, mildew, and rotted wood. Loony was forced to cover his nose with a hanky.

“Place smells like a piss hole,” Trig said.

“Place smells like your mah’s snootch,” Dano said. Trig gave him a snarl, but Dano just laughed.

“All the money, all the money this, pig, has taken from me over the past few weeks, and this, this is where he calls home?” Loony asked, feeling his fingers upon the end of his mustache, as if they moved all on their own whim. “Knock on the door, Dano. Wake the pig up,”

Dano looked at the three men, suddenly feeling very nervous. He had seen first-hand what the man was capable of, but orders were orders, and orders meant cash. He swallowed hard, then walked up to the door, raised his hand, cleared his throat, knocked a solid three times, and stepped back quickly.

There was no answer.

“Don’t think he’s home, boss,” Dano said, shrugging.

“The hell he ain’t!” Loony said. Pushing up through his men he walked up to the door and pounded. “SEE HERE! You know who I am? This is Loony Lamprey! Nobody breathes, or takes a shit without me knowing in Blackscar, and I would have words with you, Malik Strife!”

Again, there was no answer. Loony’s face turned a deep shade of red as his blood boiled.

“Nobody disrespects me, NOBODY!” Loony said as he opened the door and began to walk inside as Dano grabbed his arm.

“Boss!” Dano said.

“Get your hands off me! This man WILL work for me whether he wants too or not!” Loony said as he walked inside into the darkness. The men waited outside, and heard Loony’s voice carry loudly, and then there was silence . . .

CRASH!

Loony’s wrinkled, liver spotted body shot like a cannonball right out the front door, careening into the side of the old, rotted doorframe, spraying splinters, and a termite nest open as he rolled down the stairs. Tick-Tock reached him first, bending down, and seeing his boss’s neck was hanging loose, flopping to one side, stretched, like a limp noodle; not from being snapped, but by being struck too hard by an uppercut delivered by the shirtless man standing in the doorway. Dano spun on Malik from the porch.

“You . . . you killed him! He was just a frail old man! You just killed an old man!” Dano said.

“Don’t worry, I kill young fucks too,” Malik said as he leaned into a fierce frontal kick, breaking Dano’s nose, teeth, and chin all in one strike. Dano fell back down the stairs, and collapsed on top of his boss, his neck snapped. Malik then turned to Trig.

“And fat fucks,” Malik said. Trig turned to run, but Malik caught him behind by his shirt collar, pulled him back, and snapped his large neck cleanly. Trig’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he toppled over onto his side.

Malik then turned to Tick-Tock, standing nearly a foot taller and double his weight. The big man was shaking, unable to move.

“That must make you the dumb fuck, since you’re still standing here,” Malik said. The ex-Strife then held out an open palm, powered up his essence from his Flarian ring, and blasted Tick-Tock into ash, and then, the silence, the sweet silence, returned.

Malik looked around at his work, sighed, walked to his porch and plopped down on the second step, wanting more, but knew nothing would come. There wasn’t a fighter on the planet worth his salt that could give him satisfaction, and the one that could, was dead. He hung his head into his lap.

Was this his life now? Just one empty unfulfilling fight after another? He thought of Nina, his one chance at a normal life . . . gone, all because of him, of Gisbo Falcon, the one who ruined his life, and worst of all, had died in the destruction of Heaven’s Shelter, forever escaping his vengeance. Vengeance, it was what ate at his soul now, or what was left of it. Just because his target had died, didn’t mean it went away. It only grew worse, more hungry, with nothing to satisfy it. It was like a rabid wolverine was birthed into his guts, tearing at his insides, day and night, and it would never cease until he had his hands wrapped around Gisbo Falcon’s throat, had The Man-Phoenix’ life in his hands, to bend, to torture, and to ruin, just like he had done to him, but now, now that was impossible.

He knew he had to let this go, knew his mortal enemy was gone, and if that were the case . . . perhaps he would find another? He knew there was another fighter that could give him what he craved. Drakearon was back, and alive, but, when he thought of him, he felt emptiness. He felt no ill will, no rage, or reason, and if he did fight him, he knew he would just go with the motions, as he had been doing the past three years, and if he did manage to win, to kill him, it would only give his father what he wanted, and that was something he would never do.

Malik cursed aloud. What was the point of gaining power and experience with no one to test it against? What was vengeance worth when the prey was already dead? What was the dream of becoming the most powerful warrior on Thera worth when one just ended up all alone in the end? What was life worth, when you had no one to love, or share it with?

Malik gritted his teeth and slammed his fist against the railing. The answer to his questions, of course, was simple.

Nothing.

He was about to go back inside, and that’s when he felt the man’s awful, uncomfortable presence, like when a stranger, or someone you didn’t trust invaded your personal space.

Malik looked up at him, his churning, sudden anxiety ridden stomach turning into a fresh surge of anger at the unwelcome sight. With a scream of fury, he threw fire-bolt after fire-bolt at the man who had suddenly blinked into existence. When he had had his fullfill, Malik stared, breathing hard, feeling dizzy after the sudden over-releasing of his essence. He had used too much in the fights throughout the day.

The dust settled and the man stood there, unharmed.

“I figured that after all these years, all these attempts, you would cease such attempts on my life. It is . . . impossible to destroy me. I’ve told you time and again, you cannot destroy one who walks between.” The Goat man said, who now stood before the ex-Strife. Malik couldn’t help it. Just the sheer pressure of The Goat Man’s power, and without his own essence re-charged, he fell to one knee.

“Shut up . . .” Malik breathed. He didn’t even recall The Goat Man walking toward him. He had done it again, just, moved through time and space as if the rules didn’t apply to him.

“You know I won’t do that, and you also know you can’t make me. So, for once, stay there, and be good for I come bearing good news.” The Goat Man said.

Malik eyed him, mistrusting.

“Have I ever given you any reason at all to mistrust me? I may be a bastard, but I’m always genuine.” The Goat Man said.

Malik said nothing.

“Now, listen well. I’ve come to tell you that soon, our time together, will come to an end. It won’t be long now before you never have to hear my voice, or see me again . . . my haunting of you, will soon, cease forever, and you will finally have the peace of mind you so desire.” The Goat Man said.

Malik tried to hide his excitement, but his eyes gave him away.

“Like the sound of that do you?” The Goat Man asked. “Then pay attention to what I have to say. You deserve your peace, but even if I leave you be, stop whispering to you in the night, will you still have peace of mind?”

Malik said nothing.

“Of course not. I know your thoughts, my Malik. I’m not all that haunts you. Nina’s dead, and you blame him for it. And this, him, this Gisbo Falcon, is dead, is he not? You can’t get your vengeance, so, you in turn take it out on everything and anything to step before you, just to quell that hunger in your soul long enough to find some sleep. Sound about right?” The Goat Man asked.

Again, Malik said nothing.

“What if I were to tell you, that Gisbo Falcon, is alive?” The Goat man revealed. To this, Malik didn’t bother suppressing his surprise. His eyes grew to the size of saucers. New red lines formed, cracking toward his pupils, and his heart suddenly hammered in his chest. One sentence, in place of all the fights he’d been in, had made his heart pump with life again. But no, he must be lying, had to be!

“Impossible. I saw the remains of Heaven’s Shelter, there was no trace of him, or anyone.” Malik said.

“You gave up too easily, assumed too much, but, in the process, you’ve become just as I needed you to be, Malik Strife. A crazed, child of chaos,
my
child of chaos. But, like every good father, it’s time to release my children to the world, and I have many children, but only few favorites. One of which, is already on the move. Now, it’s time for you to join him and fulfill my needs . . . ah, ah, let me finish. My needs are also your needs.

As I told your brother in chaos, years ago, I’m here, to give you what you want, to help you. I know what your deepest desires are. You want the life of Gisbo Falcon, my child of chaos? I will grant you the opportunity. The Reunion, it’s coming. And you, my dear Malik, are a guest of honor at my table. You, as well as my other guests, will bring all that you have, all that you are to this table, and there you will eat your fill, tear into your meats, lick your bones, and at the end of the meal, one of you, and only one, will give me the answer I have sought my entire life…” the Goat Man said.

Malik cocked an odd, but curious grimace.

“But before all that, you need to wash yourself before I allow you at my table. You need to be clean of mind, clean of heart, and clean of purpose. Answer me, my dear Malik. Who’s at fault for Nina’s death? Is it Gisbo? The one who opened the gate to despair and abandoned her? Or is it you? The one who burned the gate down, with his jealous, spiteful words?” The Goat Man asked.

“I . . . I . . .” Malik started.

“Only one way to find out, my child. If one believes that right and wrong is not universal, that it is only a point of view, that it is only relative, then the only way, the fairest way to find the answer to my question is how?” The Goat Man asked.

“Through Chaos . . .” Malik said. The Goat Man grinned.

“Excellent! Yes, my dear, Malik. Chaos. A fight to the death is the only way to discover the truth. You will pour all of your grievances, all your power, all your conviction into one last battle, before the war begins. Who ever’s conviction is stronger, will find a way to kill the other. In chaos, only the survivor is in the right, and deep down, my Malik, he craves this fight more than anything. Gisbo Falcon, he’s made many enemies, many rivals, but you Malik, you are the only one to truly scare him. Do you know why?” The Goat Man asked, leaning in, putting his face into Malik’s.

“You represent what he could become.”

The Goat Man let that settle in for a long moment before continuing, as he began to pace back and forth, his hands behind his back.

“You two have been on a collision course since the very beginning, when choices beyond your control set you down your current paths. It’s not nature versus nurture. It’s nature and nurture. Both played a role in what you two have become, and in the end, both will determine who will survive.” The Goat Man said.

“Where is he?” Malik asked.

“Not so fast, my child. Much needs to be done, but first, I need to know if you’re ready. I’m going to reveal something to you, a secret, that only a few on Thera have been privy too, and two of them, are now dead, a secret, about you . . .” The Goat Man said.

Malik raised an eyebrow.

“Depending upon your reaction, I will know if my whisperings to you in the night, shaping your mind for chaos, has not been in vain.” The Goat Man said, halting his pacing, as he cut right to it. “Malik Strife is not your name. You are no Strife. You’re real name, is Malik Narroway, son of Chieftain Narroway, Grandson of Vadid the Valiant, and cousin, to Gisbo Falcon. The peace offering between the Renegades and the Strifes, was you and Ranto, the exchanging of the Chieftain’s sons. Now, the question is this. Knowing that Gisbo Falcon is family, does this change things?” The Goat Man asked.