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.