Emberwilde Comes: Pallet Town (part two)

The temperature dropped at least twenty degrees from the hot, humid air outside yet I couldn't see an ice pokemon anywhere. All around me, metal boxes lined the walls , each giving off their own distinct high-pitched buzz. People dressed in similar white coats to the older man bustled back and forth, some carrying stacks of paper, others with smaller metal buzzing boxes, some with trays of pokeballs.

"You have a very large family." I said, looking at all the busy people, "Do they all live here?"

The older man let out a small laugh and shook his head. "No, these folks are all scientists like myself. And this isn't a house, it's a laboratory. Here we do research projects related to the study of pokemon." He gestured for me to follow and together we went to the very back of the lab. "You can call me Professor Oak. I'm in charge of the lab and pokemon research in the Kanto region. I also help to guide the new pokemon trainers on their journey, as well as provide them with their very own starter pokemon." He gestured to a small table in the center of the room. On the table were three tiny stands, each one big enough to hold one pokeball.

"Pokemon trainers?" I asked, not understanding the words. In the villages of the Tartarus Isles, the older pokemon taught the younger ones. The only role humans played was the occasional target practice.

Professor Oak nodded his head. "Here in Kanto and many other region, a young person like yourself will set out into the world to learn and discover and follow their dream of becoming the greatest pokemon trainer. The human and pokemon work together to become stronger battlers. Unlike the task given to a Bearer, the trainer and their pokemon start off weak and seek to grow together into strong partners."

"It seems cruel to send ones so weak into the world on their own," I replied.

The professor shook his head. "Not at all. In fact it's the best way for the trainer and pokemon to bond, by becoming stronger together," he said. Professor Oak motioned to the empty stands. "In fact you just missed seeing one of your own kin begin his very own pokemon journey."

I looked at the older man, confused. "I thought you said that the other other Bearers were here a couple days ago."

"Not your human kin, but other pokemon from the Tartarus Isles. Certain pokemon native to the Kanto region are harder to find roaming free in the wild than in the days of my youth. My team is currently researching the cause of these dwindling numbers. Until then, I would like to thank your isle's clans for parting with their own."

I looked at the three stands recently emptied of their pokeballs. "The runts," I said, looking back at Professor Oak, "This is where they end up? Battling side by side with young humans?" I thought on the idea, of Pokemon and humans working as a team, each of them growing and learning from one another. It was a new concept as I knew Emberwilde would not seek counsel from me, nor was I free to give it without reason. Still though, I thought, looking at the empty stands, imagining three pokeballs being picked up by three children, all six of them naive to the world and the dangers they faced, yet full of hope and the opportunities before them.

I nodded. "It's a better life than they could expect on the island," I said, thinking of the young Charmander awakening from its pokeball to find a young, wide-eyed human to watch over it, and protect it. Then I thought about the encounter with the arrogant boy outside. What was his name? "Gary," I said vehemently, turning back to the doorway. I felt my body tense and my heart start to race. Anger filled my being. No one from our clan would suffer being paired with that boy, not when I was close enough to stop it. I wouldn't allow it!

Before I could start toward the door to catch up with Gary so Emberwilde could unleash fury upon him, I felt a strong hand grasp my shoulder. Instinctively I turned and let out a snarl, my hand going to Emberwilde's pokeball. Then I saw the old man's kind face, his head shaking. "No, it's fine. Your kin didn't end up with my grandson. I paired a very special pokemon with Gary, one that I hope will teach him about partnership and trust."

I felt my rage subside, my heartbeat slow and breathing calm. I counted to ten before nodding to the professor and he took his hand off of my shoulder. "Thank you for showing me this," I said, "but I think I'd better be going now. My own rivals already have a couple days headstart."

The professor again shook his head. "It's going to be dark soon. You might as well stay here for the night. Besides, I still haven't told you anything about your tasks as a Bearer yet." He opened a drawer and pulled out a rolled up piece of paper and a small plastic card. "A map to help you navigate the Kanto region. There's some money in an account already set up for you, payment to your clan for the adoption of their young. You can use the money to buy food, items such as pokeballs and potions, and secure shelter."

He had me follow him to a small couch set up in the corner. "As I said, you can stay here for the night, and I'll explain more about Kanto in the morning and the Bearer's tasks." Then he wrinkled his nose. "My last piece of advice for the night is to shower and shower often. Feel free to use the emergency shower in the corner. In Kanto, we generally try to cover-up distasteful smells. You'll find others more approachable if you aren't so smelly." With that, the Professor departed, leaving me in the room alone.

I grabbed one of the stands and brought it into the back room, setting it up on a low table. I placed Emberwilde's pokeball upon it. "We shall begin your quest tomorrow, after the Professor has provided the rest of his information." The ball shook slightly in acknowledgement.

I headed to the shower and scrubbed myself clean, unclear about why humans would want to smell like anything other than human. Our scent let the pokemon know we were around, helping us to avoid being stepped on by the unsuspecting, or mauled by the startled. I rinsed my clothes in the shower too after pulling another set from my bag.

I lay down to sleep after rifling through the contents of the lab fridge for food. Staring at Emberwilde's still pokeball, I thought about what Professor Oak told me: about partnership and growth and trust, and dreamed about what that would look like back home - and I couldn't. I really was a long way from home.

Emberwilde Comes: Pallet Town (part one)

I arrived in Pallet Town two days after we departed the Tartarus Isles. With just the clothes on my back, one bag packed in a hurry, and Emberwilde in my pokeball at my hip, I got off the docks and entered into the town. In school, they showed us images of human cities with towering buildings rising to the clouds, the hordes of people bustling here and there, the only Pokemon running free being the rodent-types scrapping by to survive. Pallet Town looked a lot closer to my village back home, just with less Pokemon walking amongst the people. It was still a human village, after all. I assumed a majority of the structures to be houses with perhaps one of them being a general store.

It was too bad I couldn't stay longer and get my bearings. This was the furthest I'd ever been from home and despite the excitement of traveling through a new land, it was still an intimidating challenge. But the Fire King entrusted me to bear Emberwilde through this foreign land as the champion of our village and we were already behind the others.

I made my way to the opposite end of the village toward the woods, passing a giant building two or three times the size of the average home. As I got to the village exit my eyes naturally darted to the movement on my right as someone exited the giant structure. A brown-haired boy around my age walked out the doors and down the pathway with a shiny pokeball in his hands. Every couple of month poachers and hunters looking to steal Pokemon either as trophies or slaves in their battles arrive in our islands. I saw in his eyes and the smile on his face the same look those grunts wore when they first land on our beaches, right before our Fire King and his lords descended upon them.

I made no effort to move, letting the other boy walk into me. He stumbled backwards and planted his butt in the gravel road. Surprisingly, he kept the pokeball braced in his hands rather than let it fall into the dirt. I decided that perhaps he wasn't a bad person, maybe just a little rude. I offered him a hand up. He took it and got to his feet, dusting himself off.

"How about you watch were you're going, new guy," the other boy said, glaring at me. I stood still and silent feeling it to be undignified for our clan's champion to be provoked by mockery. "What's your name anyways?" Still I said nothing. I saw his eyes scan over my dirty clothing and eventually settle on the black and red pokeball at my hip. His smile returned. "Well no name. I see you've got a pokeball there. And I just got a brand new one from Gramps in there. How about we break them in with a little battle?" He held up his pokeball in front of him as he spoke as if trying to show me where pokemon came from.

I shook my head. "That would be neither wise nor fair, unless you've somehow stumbled across a gym leader level pokemon, in which case I doubt you'd be able to control it."

The other boy snarled and backed away, pokeball still in hand. "Oh yeah. Let's see whose pokemon is stronger."

I just shrugged my shoulders and reached for Emberwilde's pokeball. As the kid reared back to throw, an older man stepped out of the giant building, arms crossed.

"Gary stop what you're doing right now," the older man said, his voice stern and authoritative. Gary lowered his arm and turned to the older man. Before the boy could say anything though, the older man spoke again. "Please stop bothering our visitor and run along. You've got a long ways to go if you want to be a Pokemon master."

Gary sneered and put the ball back onto his belt. "Okay Gramps, I'll be leaving now." Then he turned to me. "The next time we meet, Gramps won't be around to protect you."

I just shook my head. "You've got that backwards, Gary. Run along and play now before Emberwilde eats you."

Gary gave me one last sneer before shouldering passed me and disappearing off onto the forest trail. I let out the breath I'd been holding once he was out of sight. If all people in this region were as hot-headed as that boy, Emberwilde might return to the Tartarus Isles at nearly double his weight. I wasn't sure if he'd be able to fly at that size, and I definitely wasn't going to ask him.

"Young man," the older man called to me, waving a hand, "would you mind coming inside for a bit. Your rivals passed through here a couple days ago. They mentioned you'd been held up for your injury" He nodded his head toward my bandaged arm.

Instinctively, I stuck my left hand behind my back pretending to scratch an itch. Raised amongst the strongest and deadliest of pokemon teaches one to not make a weakness known to one's enemies. I didn't like it but I would probably need some information to navigate this new world. Since he spoke with the other two Bearers, perhaps he would also have information for me as well. I nodded and walked into the older man's home.

The Cape (afterword)

And now the part I expect most people to skip (or should be skipping at least), the part where I talk about how I put this thing together - all those bulky, clumsy Lego blocks I used to build this story. And not those miniature, precise pieces you'd use to build The Death Star or a scale model of Disneyland, but those fist-sized blocks you stick together to make a sword/club that shatters after one good hit on your brother's head before your mom drags you around the house shouting about how your dad is going to beat your ass when he gets home even though he started it in the first place and you didn't even hit him that hard so you don't know why he's crying for.

This first came about a year ago, I think, or just about maybe. There was a Reddit prompt about a captured superhero stripping off his clothes while the bad guys laughed but, they didn't know that his powers were dependent on his clothing, or something like that (I can't find it anymore). My original story was just the ending part when the protagonist strips off his clothes to reveal the clothing of another. Actually, I think originally I had it as the clothing of a supervillain and then kills the bad guy. But then I started asking how would he get into the lair in the first place so I thought up that beginning part. Then there NEEDED to be multiple transformations and well from there it just got way out of hand.

Speaking of which, The Cape is currently one of three (not counting Emberwilde Comes, my pokemon fanfic) unfinished longer stories that just got way out of hand for a writing prompt response. I'm working on getting around to finishing the other ones eventually.

Several parts were really hard for me to put together. I finished the main story months ago (yeah, it's just been sitting on my laptop this whole time). I struggled for a long time on that fight scene at the end between The Talon and Tiny, especially after The Talon gets some of his lines undone. I actually went onto Youtube and binged MMA fight videos and read some articles on fighting, especially on ways to close distance against a larger opponent. The next hardest thing was names for the characters. I'm just not good at it. And now I needed six plus descriptions of their insignias. Finally came how to separate it all into pieces. If you read my last story, firstly, I'm sorry as Chicken or the Egg should've been broken into two parts. And I've seen some terrible editing especially on TV when it's time to add commercial breaks into movies. If you've ever seen "John Wick" on Paramount you know what I mean (who puts a commercial right in the middle of a fight scene, especially the first one). I re-read this a couple times to figure out where a natural break might be and, as you know, re-reading is so, so boring. It actually put me to sleep a couple of times.

In the aftermath of this, The Legion seems like a really good superhero to use if I ever continue on with The Sovereignty or with any other story about superheroes. Not written in the original story, The Legion is, yes, just one person who is able to use a variety of superpowers, the limits being he can only use the powers people believe he has. There was this superpower I thought up a long time ago called "What you see is what you get" that, based on how people perceived you, you could get a boost in abilities. Like, for instance, if you wore a stupid shirt with a fist donned with a crown and with the help of wires and a crane and camera angles, conned people into believing you were super-strong, from then on when people saw you in that stupid shirt you would be super strong because they believed you were super-strong.

The Cape (part four)

Deveros never considered that one man could have all those powers, it would just be too much. For a moment, the man's image came to focus and Deveros swung. He wasn't sure if the man was telling the truth about his powers; or if he just retained some of The Talon's abilities for a moment; or if it was just the other man's youthful strength and speed compared with Deveros' tired body. The man simply slipped outside the punch, never breaking stride. He kicked the back of Deveros' knee, dropping him to his knees. Then the other man yanked the back of Deveros' coat, pulling it off.

Deveros turned to see the man pulling on the black trenchcoat, one sleeve at a time. "Let me make things a bit clearer for you," the man said, putting the glasses on his face. He ran his fingers through his hair, slicking it back. The image in Deveros' eyes solidified and he was no longer staring at The Talon or some stranger but Joe Clarke, the most famous reporter at the Daily Page.

Dressed in his trademark trenchcoat and dark-rimmed glasses, he looked every bit as clear as when Deveros would see him on his TV set, usually covering a tragedy Deveros himself had orchestrated. How did he get here so quickly? he thought. No, it's still that man masquerading as The Talon and probably countless other heroes as well. He needed to stay focused.

From the entryway into the hidden room came three dull thuds followed several seconds later by three louder clangs of boots on the steel floor. SWAT officers entered the room in full armor, rifles raised and ready.

"Looks like you boys are a little late to the party," Joe Clarke said, bright white smile shining. "From what I saw upstairs it looks like King Fist made a mess of all the henchmen, Blue Furnace burned through the doors, and The Talon took down the heavy before incapacitating Deveros. You may still want to slap some cuffs on him though, just to be safe." He pointed at the uncuffed Deveros, still glaring at Joe Clarke just to make his point.

The lead officer lowered his rifle and pulled off his mask. The other two officers followed suit, one of them walking around to lift Deveros to his feet and handcuff his hands behind his back, the other watching over the still-unconscious Tiny. "Dammit Clarke, I get the whole 'freedom of the press' thing but couldn't you wait until we sweep the area before scurrying in here looking for a story," the officer said to the man in glasses and a trenchcoat.

The reporter just shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry officer, I just really wanted to get the story before anyone else got here. I was also hoping to get an exclusive with the members of The Legion that took down the villain, but it looks like they already left."

"No, he is The Talon! And King Fist! And Blue Furnace! He's the entire Legion. It's just him!" Deveros cried out as one of the officers dragged him through the tunnel and back to the manor.

"I think The Talon might've hit him a little too hard. I guess he'll be suing for some sort of police brutality or something," said Joe Clarke, reporter.

The lead officer just shrugged. "With all the crimes he's committed, especially this last one, I'm surprised The Talon didn't just kill him and make life safer for all of us."

"Come on officer, now that wouldn't be very heroic," said Clarke. He patted the officer on the back and took one last look around the room. "Well, it looks like you boys have this handled and there's nothing left to put to print here. I'll leave you to it." he turned and headed back to the tunnel entrance.

"Just try to stay out of crime scenes until it's safe and secured," the officer said after him, knowing his advice would only fall on deaf ears.

Deveros was still rambling to the other two officers hauling him to the ladder when Joe Clarke caught up with them. Three ropes linked the top of the tunnel to the secret room they were in now, and explained how all three had gotten down so fast. Above them, he could hear the clatter of rifles and the clomps of boots as officers rushed around the room. "Hey boys, mind if I head up first? Deadlines to meet and all that." One of the officers just shrugged and motioned him along.

"I know who you are! I'll tell everyone!" Joe Clarke turned from the ladder to Deveros sneering at him.

Joe Clarke, reporter smiled his award-winning smile that made him a household name in the local news. "Yeah, and who exactly am I?"

Deveros' mouth opened, but no sound came out. He closed it, then tried to speak again only the words wouldn't leave his mouth. Puzzlement covered his face while he glanced down as if trying to see his own lips, then back to Joe Clarke standing not five feet from him. His eyes glazed over and he needed to blink several times like he was trying to keep himself awake. "You're Joe Clarke."

Joe Clarke smiled again. "Seems like I've got a fan." He reached into his pocket and pulled a business card. "If you'd like to give an exclusive interview, give me a call. I know you get at least one phone call where you're headed off to." He stepped forward and slid the card into Deveros' shirt pocket. Then he leaned a bit more and whispered, so just the two of them could barely hear. "I told you, no one will believe you. I write the news in this city." Then he leaned back, smiling at Deveros and the two officers, and turned back to the ladder. By the time he was halfway up, Deveros' restored Legion conspiracy rantings were already starting to fade.

At the top of the ladder, Joe Clarke found the entire manor swarming with police officers, paramedics, and other first-responders. Nearly all the henchmen were already in handcuffs, and the officers were busy sorting which ones would be going to jail and which should be sent to the hospital to get checked before joining their buddies. Weapons, bullets, and casings were labelled and collected as evidence. Through the chaos, Joe Clarke moved like a breeze, invisible, striding confidently as no one gave him a second look despite his odd clothing, or that the nearest press van was still more than thirty minutes away.

The Cape (part three)

"What the fuck is going on?!" said Tiny, looking around the room with his hands raised and ready, "Where'd you come from? And where did The Talon run off to?" The other man staggered slowly to his knees, wobbling from the hit. "Stay down," Tiny warned, "I don't want to hurt you again." Tiny clenched his fists, eyes still searching the room. The other man wiped the blood gushing from his nose and splattered it on the floor with a flick of his wrist. He doubled over, coughing up more blood. Tiny's eyes finally landed on Deveros standing across the room. "Did you see where The Talon went?" he asked his boss.

In reply, Deveros' eyes widened and mouth dropped. He raised a shaky hand and pointed behind Tiny. The giant turned quickly to find The Talon standing where the stranger had stood just a moment ago, a little bit of blood coloring his lip and some trickling from his nose.

"So where'd you run off to?" taunted Tiny, hobbling back into a fighting stance. His right leg was definitely broken, but Tiny was a professional. He gave the slightest glance back to confirm his body was still between his employer and the hero. Tiny steadied himself and looked back at The Talon knowing this would be a losing battle. "I guess it really doesn't matter. Let's get this over with," he said.

The Talon looked from Tiny's broken leg, then at the determination on the man's face. The man knew The Talon's reputation and still stood in defiance of The Legion's best, most feared fighter. The Talon couldn't help but respect the henchman's professionalism. The fighter nodded and lifted one finger. "One hit. Let us begin," he said before striding forward.

Tiny couldn't help but smile. He'd heard rumors from other thugs and hired guns who faced down The Talon. It was common knowledge the fighter appreciated professionalism in his opponents when it came to combat. The One Hit was a show of respect the superhero granted to few of his opponents - the guarantee that the fight would end in just one blow, not a pounding of hits that could lead to needless suffering.

Tiny bounced on his feet, checking his mobility. It wasn't good, but he still weighed more than twice that of The Talon. If the hero meant to end the fight in just one hit, he'd have to get close enough that Tiny could use his size to the advantage. It would all come down to timing. In arm length and reach, Tiny definitely had the advantage. The Talon could try to close the distance or negate that reach with a kick, but Tiny suspected the smaller man couldn't generate enough force with a kick to knock him out with a single hit, especially if Tiny knew it was coming. No, he'd need to come into range of Tiny's fists. If he could get The Talon to line up, especially for his big right fist, he could knock the hero out with a single blow of his own.

As the hero got close, Tiny threw out a left jab, purposefully aiming a little wide. Predictably the smaller man dodged inward, away from the fist and directly into the path of Tiny's follow-up, a powerful, sweeping right hook. What he didn't predict was for The Talon to shift his quick dodge into more of a fall, sliding even further and outside the arc of his swing. Tiny felt himself start to stagger off-balance having put too much into the sweeping fist. From the corner of his eye, he saw The Talon spin as he stepped passed Tiny. The larger man knew he was too injured to keep up with the hero. He felt the weight of the hero press down onto the back of his right leg, buckling Tiny and dropping him to a knee. Then The Talon delivered the One Hit, this time taking the form of an elbow hammered onto the top of Tiny's skull and knocking the giant unconscious. The Talon stepped away, letting the giant kiss the floor with this face, landing with a thud that shook the room. Then he faced his real adversary, Deveros himself.

Deveros pointed his finger at The Talon. "I saw you. I know what you are!"

The Talon closed the distance between the two men and, like a viper, his hand shot forward and broke Deveros' extended finger. With the same hand he snatched the glasses off of Deveros' face before striking it with the palm of his other hand, breaking the villain's nose and sprawling him on the floor.

Blood gushing onto his shirt, Deveros stared up at The Talon. "I saw it. I wasn't sure in the atrium when King Fist suddenly appeared. Maybe it was just a trick of my eyes in the darkness. But this time I know what I saw."

"What truth do you believe you have witnessed?" The Talon asked, his face expressionless in the face of the villain's accusations. He walked back to the entryway of the hidden lair and retrieved Blue Furnace's shirt.

"You. I saw you for what you really are. When Tiny wiped that foam from your chest, he disrupted the markings that everyone knows covers The Talon's body. And then you disappeared because you weren't you anymore. Except you were still there as if in disguise because we couldn't see The Talon, but just another ordinary man. You were there but you also weren't there. Then you used the blood coming from your nose caused by Tiny's lucky swing to redo the missing lines. That's when you became The Talon again. It's got to be something about the way we perceive you, your appearance or clothes or something," Deveros stammered, getting to his feet, adrenaline pumping, smiling confidently. "I know your secret now."

For a fraction of a second the calm stoic face of The Talon broke and revealed an arrogant smile underneath. In that same moment, Deveros' vision blurred and the hero not quite disappeared but also wasn't quite there. Then the hero reappeared fully, his hands wiping the shirt of Blue Furnace over his body.

"So, you think you figured it out," said The Talon as his voice distorted as well, as if cutting in and out with static, while the hero wiped the foam and blood covering his body and face with the shirt. "You sound even crazier than usual, Deveros." He tossed the shirt aside and The Talon vanished, an unknown, average, shirtless man standing in his place and still walking toward Deveros.

To Deveros' eyes, the shape of the man alternatively blurred and sharpened as if his eyes were picking up static or some other sort of interference. "No, you won't trick me again," he said, dropping one leg backwards and rearing back with his right first. "And, if my prediction is correct, right now you're no longer The Talon or Blue Furnace or King Fist or any of those other names. You're just a regular man."

Just before he got in range, a blurry man replied, "Or perhaps I've got all their powers, all the time."

The Cape (part two)

"He's watching," said King Fist as he looked at the camera then back at the man on the ground. "And you're watching. King Fist flipped the shirt inside-out and slipped it back over his head, the red shirt now sporting a stylized icy-blue sun blazing on his chest. Then he pulled a pair of red bracelets from his pocket and slipped one onto each wrist. He snapped his fingers. He snapped again and once again the sound echoed in the quiet mansion. "So tell me, who do you see?" he said.

"Oh my god, you're.." stammered the henchman.

"Yes," fingers still snapping.

"You're Blue Furnace!"

"Yes," Blue Furnace said, snapping his fingers and a ball of blue flame appeared in his palm. "Yes, I am." He willed the flame up to his thumb, dancing them across all ten of his fingers, and ending with the ball settling in his opposite hand.

Satisfied, Blue Furnace snuffed the flame and turned his attention to the steel door. Too strong for King Fist to punch through, he thought. Placing both hands on the cool metal, Blue Furnace sent lance after lance of fire into the door until he melted it open. It only took a couple of minutes, but it was enough time for Deveros to descend out of view and leave Blue Furnace staring into an abyss.

Abandoning caution, Furnace dropped blind into the shaft and landed in the encompassing darkness. He raised a hand, creating a ball of fire to light the room. Instantly, a jet of foam shot from the ceiling, dousing the flames. Then another came to life, splashing Blue Furnace with the same solution. Then another jet. And another jet. In less than a minute, a dozen jets soaked Blue Furnace with the same freezing, heavy chemical. Blinded by the dense foam, Blue Furnace swung his fists wildly at the sound of approaching footsteps but connected with nothing but air.

"Not so tough now, matchstick," said a voice as a boot connected with Blue Furnace's ribs, knocking him back and possibly breaking one or two of them.

Catching his breath and staggering to keep his balance, Blue Furnace wiped the foam from his eyes. In front of him stood just two men, Deveros and a giant. "Did you enjoy my little surprise?" Deveros laughed, "I knew you would be the only one to break through those doors, my own little Frankenstein of metals too strong for that dumb neanderthal to punch his way through, or that popsicle-girl to freeze. Since you would be the only one to get through, I could prepare the perfect countermeasure. Now you'll die down here, alone." Deveros motioned toward his companion, a monolithic figure standing just under seven feet tall and built more like a bull than a man with slabs of muscle covering his entire being. "I'll let you get acquainted with Tiny, my top enforcer."

The giant cracked his knuckles, then began a confident, slow walk toward Blue Furnace. The hero knew better than to attempt to summon his fire, the foam putting it out of his reach for the time until his body warmed. Instead, he removed the bracelets, then ripped away his shirt. In the foam still covering his face, he drew bold lines with his fingers and thin swirls with his nails. Reaching into the foam piled on the floor, he continued the pattern onto his now bare chest until there was no mistaking him for any other superhero.

"Oh god," whispered Tiny as he stopped mid-stride, "Is that The Talon?"

The Talon was no where near as strong as King Fist or as fast as Sonic Flash. He didn't have any weird abilities like Silver Shark, Glass Casket, or The Cacophony. But, in the entire Legion he was the best fighter. Against an opponent like this, he already had a dozen different ways to take him out, both temporarily and permanently. He decided to start with the one that would hurt the most but still keep him breathing.

The Talon walked toward Tiny, each step closing the distance between them one second at a time. Tiny, in contrast, stood scarecrow-still, eyes waiting for the eventual moment The Talon would pounce. One second, right foot, one step. One second, left foot, one step. One second, right foot, one step. It was a rhythm. One second, left foot, one step. One second, right root, one step. Tiny twitched but The Talon continued his pacing, not even flinching at the movement of the nearly three hundred pound monster. After an eternal nine steps and nine seconds, The Talon moved himself just out of Tiny's reach and Tiny had the rhythm now. On the ten count Tiny swung at the spot the hero's head would soon occupy, launching his full weight behind a giant right fist.

The number ten is a special thing to the human psyche. It's round, whole, solid. It's a countdown to a shuttle launch or to count a boxer out of a fight. It's official and reassuring, that once the countdown is over something will change about the current situation. It's why The Talon took slightly smaller steps than usual, to close the distance in ten steps instead of his usual eight steps, to put himself just within Tiny's range when Tiny would feel most confident to strike. It's why Tiny's sledgehammer fist hit nothing but air, The Talon using that same second to slip around the punch and drive his right foot into Tiny's right knee and bending it at an odd angle. Tiny growled in pain as he attempted the nearly impossible task of turning his over 300-pound frame on just one good leg. The typically fluid motion of spinning 180 degrees looked much less graceful as he instead shifted inches at a time to bring his left side around. The Talon used the opportunity to launch an elbow into the side of Tiny's head, staggering the bigger man.

Tiny flailed, swinging his arms wildly, more to keep his balance than to strike at his opponent. A lucky swing however, was enough to wipe a fingertips-worth of foam from The Talon's chest. In another half-second, Tiny regained his balance and lunged forward, blindly swinging a heavy right hook. The punch connected, knocking his target to the ground. Tiny froze, stunned, looking from his own fist to the man on the ground, then back again. He'd never seen anyone lay a finger on The Talon much less a fist. Even when one of his peers brought up a story he'd heard from a friend of a friend that swears he'd actually seen someone get the better of The Talon they were always met with ridicule from everyone in the room. Tiny took a couple steps forward, then stopped again, confused as the man on the ground, bleeding from his nose, was not The Talon but just some shirtless man covered in foam.

The Cape (part one)

Stormflyer smashed through the glass ceiling, landing on a bent knee in the middle of the darkened atrium. Twenty guns emerged from their hiding places behind columns and overturned tables on the ground floor, and banisters and low walls on the second floor, all training their red laser-sights on the eagle insignia covering Stormflyer's chest rather than on his head. Trained shooters then, aiming for center-mass, he thought, not at all like the henchmen I fought at Deveros' other jobs. Stormflyer stood slowly, hands raised in surrender but with defiance still in his eyes.

"Deveros, come out! This ends tonight!" His words vibrated through the atrium. Several guns rattled briefly until their owners regained their nerves and steadied their hands.

The echo of footsteps grew louder in the darkness. Deveros appeared in the doorway of the balcony above Stormflyer, a tall, slender man in a long black coat emerging from behind the line of rifles. Even in his early sixties, his eyes still contained a gleam of wildness behind the black-rimmed glasses, his long dark hair combed straight down to his shoulders. His smile held a malice no other villain Stormflyer ever fought could match.

"Even after the body count at our last job, The Legion sent just one man to arrest me? I'm insulted," Deveros said, hands waving in the air as he spoke, "You have no idea how hard my boys and I worked to trap that many people in one room. Did you know that if you don't spread the fire just right, some people might pass out from smoke inhalation and not even bother to wake up in time to scream as the flames cook them alive. I hoped this last trick of mine would bring the entire Legion here tonight, but I guess you'll just die alone." Deveros tapped the shoulder of the rifleman on his left. "Get me his cape, please. I'd like a souvenir of this moment, preferably one not filled with bullet holes and soaked in blood."

Cautiously, the man descended the staircase and crept toward the hero, his gun trained on Stormflyer the entire time. He stalked around to the side of the hero, who stood statue-still, his unblinking eyes focused on Deveros. With a swift motion, he hit the hero with the butt of the rifle, dropping him to his knees. His confidence boosted, the henchman unfastened the cape with one tug, pulling it from Stormflyer's shoulders and draping it over his own. Satisfied, he walked backwards to his boss, keeping the gun pointed at the fallen hero.

Deveros tapped his chin with a gloved finger. "Something is bothering me though. Before you die, perhaps you could tell me why The Legion sent you in here alone to bring me in. After all, it doesn't make much sense. Even if you can fly, it wouldn't help much once you got inside."

"You're right, Deveros," said Stormflyer. To the stares of twenty-one pairs of puzzled eyes, he removed his shirt, the eagle with wings spread out across a black cloud landing face-up as it hit the ground. It took the men less than a second to recognize the insignia on the red spandex shirt Stormflyer revealed underneath, a fist with a crown upon its knuckles. "King Fist, though is basically bulletproof."

The rifleman with the cape strode back to the hero, confident and emboldened, and swung his rifle again. To his and everyone else's surprise, the gun smashed on the hero's face, shattering the stock to pieces. King Fist grabbed the man by the head, his palm covering the man's forehead, and shoved, sending the henchman across the room and smashing into a wall. He didn't get back up.

"Oh shit, it's King Fist!" shouted one of the men on the balcony. Nineteen rifles roared to life, deafening everyone in the room as bullets rained onto the hero, brass casings clinking on the tile floors. Hundreds of muzzle flashes made shadows jump all around the room while the smell of spent gunpowder filled nostrils. Trained shooters kept their eyes on center mass and their hands steady, and close to six hundred rounds found their target.

In seconds, the rifles clicked empty and shell casings littered the floor at the riflemen's feet. Similarly, bent, crushed, twisted fragments of bullets littered the area around King Fist. "My turn," the hero said striding forward. Before the henchmen could reload, he was upon them, breaking rifles in half and throwing men across the room. In a matter of minutes, the hero knocked out all the guards on both floors. He turned his attention to Deveros just in time to see the villain flee back through the door from which he earlier emerged.

King Fist gave chase down the hall but the villain was too far ahead. Deveros got to the end of the hall and, instead of turning into any of the rooms, he hit a secret button on the wall and dropped through a hole in the floor. Before King Fist could give chase a steel door slammed shut, separating him from Deveros as the villain fled down the hole on the other side. "Let's see you punch through that, King Fist!" said Deveros, barely audible through the steel door, but still taunting the hero.

The superhero reared back his fist and brought it down, sending a Boom! echoing through the hall but leaving barely a dent in the steel door. "I guess if I can't go through the door, I'll try the floor instead," King Fist said, aiming at a spot in the floor right next to the steel entrance.

"Don't!" said a henchman lying not quite unconscious on the floor. "The whole thing is rigged to blow if you try to go through anything besides the door. He's watching." The henchman lifted a hand and pointed to a security camera in the corner of the ceiling, red light shining bright in the dark room.