Episode 3: First Arms: Part 7

Hall of Justice Washington D.C

JULY,8, 2010 13:00 AM

There are many reasons heroes fight each other, even in the relatively friendly confines of a training room. Pride and matters of ranks and privilege are the rarest but can still happen. The reckless need to prove the superiority of one's arms and techniques is more popular. But the biggest reason is still personal disagreement. Even if the League is far too modern to call these "duels of honor "or "judgement by strength", it is surprisingly common when two Leaguers cannot agree on a thing to settle the matter in, let's say "involved" training. Superman and I are no different and nobody could claim otherwise. I thought what I said to him earlier, that he needs to tire himself out, to get a good rest after then getting over the situation.

And even if the chances are slim, I'd be happy to deliver him a thrashing to be remembered.

Yet I don't need to win this training session to win my cause. Superman is a good person at heart and displays of endurance in service of a friend are sure means to gain his appreciation. Mayhaps he won't consider Superboy evil anymore when I will finish to bleed for him. For bleed for him I shall. I've already begun. Small cuts for the moment but appropriate pre-combat offerings, enabling me to regain the strength I've spent overseeing the gardens. I stand in full costume. Not the most beautiful spectacle I know. My hands and feet are supplemented by claws of jade; so sharp I've asked the Man of Steel to don another costume to avoid his panoply to be shredded to pieces. The helm-mask I wear could belong to one of the Deep Ones, hideous patchwork of crocodile and batrachian with googled eyed and toothy smile. No. Compared to the costumes and ornaments of the League I'm not beautiful but terrifying, and terror is a weapon in my arsenal.

I wait at one extremity of the featureless room. The walls are thick enough to resist the going and coming of Superman or Wonder Woman so we are going to let ourselves out completely. I argued for a good fifteen minutes on the necessity for the Man of Steel to let himself go as fully as possible. I know that for him I'm built of cardboard, and that's true for Tlaloc doesn't preside over unearthly stamina. Still I will be using all of my powers to oppose him and knock him out. He knows I'm serious and Martian Manhunter has stayed for observe our fight and keep any accidents to happen.

I'm sitting cross-legged as if in meditation, considering the pathways of my mind. Strange that I would use this wait to ponder over the changes that happen each time I invoke a god. Even the core urges of my being are not spared the influence of my patrons but I feel little to feel angry with the changes. I don't care the rain-god approves or not my conduct here. My duty is to the team and as the youngest Superoby needs my help the most. I have no intention to shame myself by cowering before Superman when the rights of my charge are threatened. I'm happy the gods approve of my choice but I would have done the same even if I was not channeling one of the Teotl.

Or perhaps not and in that resides all the question. I'll have to ponder that a moment. I'll have to clear that when I have more time.

I rise as Superman enters clad in a white training suit. He looks at me with a little amazement. I wear nothing but my weapons and a skirt of mailed scales. The scarification of my pre battle rituals are visible on my skin, their red lines display proudly as proof as my determination. I asked for as close as a combat situation as we can. Whatever the manner he'll treat me, he will have me in full combat capacity I spread my legs a little, rooting myself in the earth below and sensing a twinge of pain as I channel her boundless strength.

Three. Two. One. Manhunter signals us to begin and he charges me head on, hoping to end quickly what he considers to be a farce. No luck for him as I let my mask work its magic. For a moment the jade is as flexible as flesh and twists in a grimace of true ugliness and power. He doesn't fear me of course, while any mortal I would have done this trick would have collapsed in sheer horror. He doesn't fear but he doesn't strike me and, rooted as I am, the wind of his first blow doesn't incapacitate me.

But here he comes again and I rise my arms to parry, seizing his wrists. For a moment we wrestle with one another, the strength of the sun against the endurance of the earth. I'm torn from my roots, forced to tilt his way and apply all my borrowed strength to counter him. I fail and with an ample movement of the arms he sends me flying through the room.

I attack as soon as I touch the ground, charging him with the speed of lightning. I take advantage of his brief surprise to strike him one, two and three times with my claws, each time scratching the invulnerable skin. He's surprised for magic weapons are not often used against him and he's unaccustomed to bleeding rather than burning or being punched by someone as strong as he is. I smile a moment before repeating the maneuver with this time electricity strengthening my swipes. I draw blood once more.

He quickly regains his bearings and punches me in the stomach, the blow nearly strong enough to make the organ burst. I dive and roll backwards to disengage. Not a moment too soon I do that for he looks at me with a gaze of scarlet and the ground where I stood is red hot for a moment. Yet he seizes me, rises me at the height of his eyes and for a moment I fear he'll kill me. He only slaps me with heavy blows before casting me to the ground once more. This time I hear bones break. One does not fight the Man of Steel without consequences.

For a, moment I stay prostrate. In another training session, that would have been an unhappy accident signaling the end. And it would have been necessary. I fell on my left arm and the pain is excruciating. Still I cannot stay down. I won't let Superman ignore his responsibilities and wait for the end of the year to decide Superboy is not evil. I rise slowly, nursing my arm. Superman is bloodied but I know he struck me more by surprise than feelings of danger. I hesitate. Mantling Tlaloc now would be a mistake I think. I must gain or lose my cause, not destroy the room and try to kill the Man of Steel. I imagine the future if Superman refuses to see reason. A team with a severely emotionally disturbed youth, bad feelings between the Team and the League if the latter seems to reject their friend, conflicts in the League itself perhaps.

I can't let that happen. I rise limping. A surge of power down my arms force the flesh to react as bark and sap and regrow itself. Another cloaks my skin in viridian bark. I stand ready, in pain but ready.

He actually smiles. Perhaps he's happy with my resilience. He doesn't attack but stand at the ready, inviting me to charge. Well sir, if that's what you want.

I let my weapons be once again traversed by lightning but reserve the last of my power. I keep it in my throat, letting it build like a storm brews itself over many days. I charge him, yes, claws before me ready to shed blood. He intercepts and dodges the blows as I thought so I let my last weapon out. If he's deaf to the movements of mercy or empathy for his clone. Then deaf let him be.

I scream with the voice of thunder. A low pitched version of Black Canary screams. I scream to a man who is able to hear a fly beat his wing in the next building. He winces in pain as I shred my throat howling. The sentences of my wrath I let flow and they actually tear him from the ground to make him strike the nearest wall.

Still I know I failed for he launches himself to me as soon as my mouth closes. No hasty punches this time, he just pinches me strongly enough to knocks me out and I fall into unconsciousness.