Hank smiles at me.
"Seriously, this will be interesting. I thought she'd be interesting as a weapons teacher."
"You do know she taught the Young X-Men how to handle grenades, right?"
Hank stops.
"I thought that was just gossip!"
"No."
We look back into the training room. Etana is standing there with a large gym bag which she drops. The clatter is distinctively threatening.
"Hello, I'm Shadow. I'm your Weapons Instructor. And I'm here to teach you how to –if you have to- defeat an entire army on your own, with a paperclip, a bow and three arrows and a very large vat of melted butter. Now that was one eventful day."
"Er…aren't you that X-Man? You aren't even on the C-List."
She sighs.
"Yes, I am on the X-Men as covert operative, advisor, instructor and general 'hey, there's a giant monster no one has seen in living memory, let's make Etana fight it on account that she probably has fought it at some point.' I'm also on an Avengers team, work solo most of the time and am the reason humanity didn't fizzle out in 1980, 1956, 1943, 1927, 1890, etc, etc, all the way back to about 500BCE. And Weapons Instruction will have to wait. Instead I think I'll have to tell you about superheroes' worst enemy."
"Who? Dr Doom?"
"No. And if anyone was stupid enough to try and write a biography of my life, Dr Doom would barely warrant a mention in a footnote. No, I'm talking about fame."
They glance at each other.
"A hero who is famous is a target. Spider-Man –to name one example- is a rite of passage for super-villains. Unless you fight –and try to kill Spider-Man– you are worth nothing in the underground culture of crime. I have survived three-thousand years by being cautious. The Society to Kill the Shadow is –thankfully- regarded as a group of conspiracy theorists who are all insane. Seriously, the theories about me are really rather flattering. Although the one about the Aztecs is totally garbage. Now, weapons! Everyone has a weapon that…gels. You won't know it until you pick it up, but when you do, you know that while you can use other weapons, that one will always be your favourite. Like this one."
The katana is suddenly in her hands.
"Weighted perfectly. Never needs sharpening. Cuts through anything, including adamantium, but heals anything that I may or may not cut accidentally. And look-" She balances the hilt on one finger, "Perfectly balanced. I was lucky. This sword was presented to me when I returned from my Bat Mitzvah by a time-traveller. The sword smith wouldn't be born for another two thousand years."
Then she whips it around and slices through the neck of a dummy. She smirks, taps the head and it falls off, rolling to the feet of one of the students.
"Not cut. Sliced. At a molecular level. Muzai was the masterpiece of Masamune's life."
"You named your sword? That's sad."
"Muzai. Not 'the sword'. Anyway, it's a katana. When you say sword you normally mean the European broadsword or the rapier. I've never met anyone who thinks of a sword as I do. A bronze sickle-sword, that's what I see. Anyway, it was traditional to name a weapon when I was rising to the top of the league."
"Which was when? Two-thousand, nine hundred and eight-five years ago?"
"No. To my eternal shame, I was an assassin from when I was twenty to around seventy. Now, weapons. Everyone chose a weapon from the bag and I'll explain how it works, how to fight and most importantly, whether it's right for you."
Then she's running around; telling Hazmat to try a broadsword not a rapier "If the medieval knights could wield one of these in full armour, this scaled down version shouldn't be too difficult for you"; shaking her head at Mettle, "No, you have the advantage of strength and invulnerability in close-ranged attacks. Take a projectile weapon instead. Not a bow, you're too strong. Try a bolas"; grabbing Striker's hand before he picks up a bow, "No, no, no! You're the opposite of Mettle! Take a close-range weapon, one you can charge. Stand up straight. Chin back. Arm out. Yes, I think –here! Try these butterfly knives. Lovely little matched blades, can easily be hidden in sleeve"; standing for a long time with Veil, "I'm tempted to try you with a tachi, but you'll need something small and light for easy movement. Try a hira"; then talking to Finesse, "I may take you onto more advanced studies later but to begin with, something that will challenge you… I know! Hook swords!"
She darts around with the same enthusiasm, changing the weapons every now and then and duelling Finesse, easily beating her and then nodding.
"Good. You'll all do. No one's up to any kind of standard. I could probably beat you all when I was unarmed. In fact…"
She sheathes Muzai and places it reverently on a shelf. Then she walks into the room and takes up a combat stance.
"Come on."
No one moves. She smiles.
"What is Rule Number One?"
"Cheat. Always cheat."
"Good. Number Two?"
"Always be wary of confident opponents. They may know something you don't."
"Three?"
"Be very, very afraid of smiling women who tell you 'come and have a go if you think you're hard enough'."
Etana straightens.
"You pass muster. I'll come back."
They bring their final weapons forward but she shakes her head.
"Keep them. They're yours. This bag was the stuff I don't use. After all, my butterfly knives have served me well enough all these years, why did Logan give me new ones as a present? Some of the weapons were mistakes. Those hook swords for instance. I'm used to a certain style of fighting and those hilts aren't complimentary to that. Same time next week. Oh, and homework."
There's a series of groans.
"Get used to the feel of the weapons; tell me if there's a cause for concern and we'll go through care and adaptation next lesson."
And she vanishes from the training room to arrive next to us.
"Rough gems, but I sense more than one diamond."
Hank blinks.
"That good, huh?"
She laughs.
"Yes. That good."
