Free Renegade Rising (The Renegade Series) by J.C. Fiske Page A

smile to spread across his face. He shot a quick glance at his father, who gave him a nod and a proud smile.
    Gisbo tried desperately to stand up, but it was no use. Hist stomach twanged and sent a shudder of pain throughout his body. The son of Ricard raised his weapon high, ready to put his full body weight behind a single blow that would end it, but that was when Rolce arrived. In that instant, Rolce’s weapon stepped between Thomson’s victory and Gisbo’s defeat.
    “Get up, man! It’s not over yet!” Rolce yelled at Gisbo. The enraged Thomson went mad with fury and struck out a low sideswipe to the corner of Rolce’s knee. There was a loud cracking noise and it wasn’t from the wooden pole. Rolce screamed in agony as he buckled to the ground, clutching his now broken knee. Thomson stood over the boy and let fly an abundant amount of curses as he beat Rolce’s body like a sack of dirty laundry. Blow after blow, Rolce screamed until he finally fell silent.
    It was then something happened, something that would change the life of Gisbo, no surname, forever. Maybe it was listening to Rolce’s screams of pain that did it. Either way, like a force of nature, it was unavoidable.
    WHOOSH! Suddenly, Gisbo’s eyes ignited into burning flames! Each pupil lit up with its own internal fire, looking like miniature comets. Gisbo’s vision went completely red and the sounds around him grew muffled. It was almost as if he were underwater in a pool of blood, staring up through the surface. Where most pools cooled you off, this one did the opposite. Gisbo felt as if his very insides were swelling like a hot marshmallow over a fire. His skin hurt, his eyes bulged and the hair on the back of his neck stood up so high it felt as if they were trying to tear themselves free of him. In spite of it all however, Gisbo only knew one thing.
    He liked it.
    Before he even knew what was happening, he was on his feet again and charged at a stunned Thomson, who stood frozen under his gaze. Each of Gisbo’s fists felt as if they had a life of their own. Thomson tried to stab his stick forward to stop the rampaging advance, but to no avail. Gisbo bashed his stick down with two interlocked fists, swung them around and smashed Thomson in the stomach with such blunt force that Thomson spat blood before he fell helplessly to the ground.
    Gisbo leapt into the air higher than he thought he could and landed with both knees in Thomson’s stomach, sending up more blood from the boy’s throat. Before Gisbo was about to land a fury of punches, he was interrupted by a loud CLANG that resounded off the side of his head. His vision went hazy and the surface of the red pool he was looking through suddenly ringed out as if someone chucked a rock into it. He then felt hands on him and the next thing he knew was that he was flying through the air, out of the circle and into an armory station. Helmets and chest plates fell off their stands and dropped all over Gisbo, burying him a pile of steel. It was then his red vision cleared and he saw the bright blue sky and then looked down to see General Ricard lowering his metallic sword sheath and standing over his son’s beaten body.
    “Tend to him,” Ricard said, motioning to his son. He then marched straight for Gisbo. His features quivered with rage.
    He . . . he hit me, right on the side of the head like a freaking sports ball. Why is it always my head? Gisbo found himself thinking.
    Ricard reattached his sheath to his belt before he dragged Gisbo out of the pile by his neck, across the ring and onto the wooden performance stage meant for theater and announcements. All had gone silent after Ricard had entered the ring and every boy and girl had immediately stopped fighting. They were stuck in a dilemma of fear, not knowing whether to be more frightened by the boy whose eyes erupted into fire or by General Ricard’s sudden brutality. Cannon and Scarrr stood at the ready next to Ricard, surveying the silent