Bluebird vs. Blitz Ch. 05

Bluebird vs Blitz

Chapter 5: The Final Battle

Meinong's schedule was full for weeks, but Sasha received a letter with pre-training instructions. The demands on her exercise and diet were grueling. Upon first read, she lost spirit. No way would she could commit to this regime. A few days later, exhausted from sexual frustration (her Blitz fantasies only grew more persistent), she started.

Each morning for sixty days, she awoke at four. The bags under her eyes felt like they were tunneling into the back of her skull. She heaved breaths just to overcome the first wave of sleep deprivation. Then she drank a smoothie-- prepared the night before-- which contained enough nutrition to last a regular human three days. Halfway through, without fail, she gagged to prevent vomiting. She'd taped to the refrigerator the picture of Blitz holding her. Otherwise, she would have quit.

The air was dark and cold as she left her house and jogged to a twenty-four hour gym, where superheroes could exercise anonymously. There she made several rounds on each machine, pushing each muscle just beyond its limits, then waiting ten minutes before going again. She accumulated so much sweat that her clothes, now twice their weight, clung to her body. Occasionally, a man hit on her. Most were too intimidated by the fiery focus in her eyes.

By the time she left, she felt like she could barely crawl home. She forced herself to sprint.

Then came shower, second breakfast, work.

Sasha was spectacularly focused. Even her awkward interactions with Jeff didn't distract her. She needed to steel herself for lunch: another smoothie, a full breast of chicken, a kale salad with walnuts, and two oranges. She ate at three spaced intervals, so as not to attract as much attention.

After work was martial arts training, at Meinong's own facility. There she encountered the most sophisticated fighters in the industry. Legends she'd revered as a child. Up-and-comers who'd been training for longer than their memories. They taught her well, then laid her out. At least, at first. Then she started to hold her own, make them sweat before they pinned her. By the end of sixty days, she won more often than lost.

Another work out followed. Another smoothie. Dinner. Stretching. Bed by ten.

Sasha was never stronger, faster, or better at fighting than at the end of those sixty days. She looked the same--her body grew in strength without growing in size--but she exuded confidence.

Then she saw Meinong.

Bluebird met him in his gymnasium. The windows were long, with arched tops, their sunlight sparkling on every speck of dust flitting through the air. Mats covered the floor, scenting the air with new plastic and sweat.

With one pinky, Meinong supported himself on a balance beam. His bare toes pointed toward the ceiling, and parted a block of sunshine into fine tendrils. He stood so close to the window that he appeared merely to be a swaying silhouette, more shadow than form.

"Meinong," ventured Bluebird.

The master flexed his pinky. The force of those tiny muscles alone propelled him toward the ceiling. He twirled, as if untouched by gravity, before landing on the mat before Bluebird. A breeze crossed her eyelashes.

"Thank you for--" Bluebird started, but Meinong raised a finger. He held it a moment, forcing her to wait for his instructions.

Meinong was tall and wore a dark fabric so tight that Bluebird saw every strand of muscle as it tensed and relaxed. He infused each moment with such grace that she wondered whether his life was choreographed. His head was shaved, his brow wrinkled, and the twinkling in his eyes cut through Bluebird's secrets.

"You wish to overcome Blitz," said Meinong. "And it must be you."

"I've been training. With your help, I will be ready."

"Show me."

Bluebird almost asked: "You mean, fight you?" But his tone was too grave to suggest ambiguity. She charged.

Meinong dodged or parried every punch, every kick, every elbow. He moved no more than a scarecrow on a breezy day, and yet he tangled past every blow. Bluebird's chest was heavy with her breaths, her face hot with the effort, until Meinong yelled.

"Stop!"

Bluebird realized he'd placed a pointer finger on her side.

"Blitz could have cut you in two."

"Okay. How do I do better?"

"You have reached your physical peak," observed Meinong. "And it has been insufficient. You must instead modify your offensive strategy."

"I'll do anything."

"A cape."

"A cape?"

"A cape." Meinong paced while he lectured, gazing at the room around him as though he could see his thoughts sitting on the balance beam or stretching on the floor. "I have studied Blitz's fighting style. No martial artist is he. He has instinct for combat, and intuition honed by countless hours of experience. But confound his natural resources, and you may defeat him."

"How would a cape help?"

Meinong interrupted her so quickly she realized her mistake in asking. "A cape greatly expands the appearance of your size, without shifting your center of gravity. Learn to work with a cape, and it disorients the opponent. Blitz's instincts will not be able to respond to such an amorphous target and, without the plasticity of structured training, he will be unable to adjust."

"How do I learn to fight like that?"

Meinong grinned. "I will teach you. But first, I will need to modify your costume."

The modification lasted two weeks, during which Bluebird fought crime in a backup uniform. A bit itchy, a bit too large, but serviceable. Finally, the message arrived, and Bluebird returned to Meinong's gymnasium. She received a new uniform.

Sewn into the shoulder straps was a wide, lightly ruffled, uranian blue cape. Meinong averted his gaze, indicating she ought to change. The costume fit snugly, but she noticed the extra weight in the shoulders. When the cape settled, it reached to her lower back.

"Now your training begins," said Meinong. "You must know, always, the position of your cape, especially when it is not in your field of vision. You must not only know, you must control. You must learn to move it as naturally as you move your body. Finally, you must learn how best to disorient."

"I will do anything to learn," said Bluebird. "Teach me."

The training required three months. Three months of cape exercises, rehearsed before a mirror, so Bluebird could see herself. Three months of videotaping herself hurtling through obstacle courses, then listening Meinong criticize every second of activity. Three months of fighting. At first, the cape threw her balance, clipped her elbows, and dampened her focus. Halfway through the three months, she fought with equal fluidity with or without the cape. By the end, she fought best with it.

In her final sparring with Meinong, Bluebird's cape fluttered to the left, indicating that she pivoted toward the right. Meinong's arm flung forward, his fist landing exactly where he expected her to be. Instead she shifted her weight back toward the cape, furling it a bit, and jabbed Meinong in the jaw.

"Enough!" Meinong rubbed his jaw. He chuckled. "I have never met a superhero more determined to defeat someone in my life. Well, Bluebird, with my blessing, you may face him."

With the buoyancy in Bluebird's chest, she felt as though Blitz were already defeated. "When I find him, I'll show him everything you've taught me."

"Finding him should be no difficulty." Again he paced, gazing around his gym. "I hire many eyes. They keep me attuned to the darker places in our city. Blitz will be attacking a political fundraiser next week."

"And-- and you trust me with the job?"

Meinong grinned. "I would send further backup if I was unsure. Sasha Tempert, Bluebird, you will completely overwhelm him."

#

Sasha Tempert waltzed around her apartment, arms swaying in time with the stadium rock, her pump-up playlist. The room rattled with the passing of the monorail. Soon, the rest of the city would shake as well. When the mighty Blitz toppled.

And that's all that would happen, Sasha assured herself as she sat in the bathtub. Through the window, she saw the black bars and diamond windows of downtown, where Blitz would soon strike. She would render him unconscious and turn him over to the authorities. And do nothing else with him.

But she shaved more than just her legs that night.

#

A few panes of glass, a handful of locks, and a tiny circuit of halls. That's all that stood between Bluebird and her final showdown. She knelt beside a brick booth on the roof, staring at the surrounding skyscrapers. Gold light poured up from their bellies, leaving their heads, impossibly high above, obscured in shadow. With a smirk, Bluebird reminded herself that she could level any one of those buildings, and she could certainly level Blitz. She just needed to wait, wait for a sign of disturbance.

A scream perked Bluebird's ears, echoey from the concrete canyon below. Another shout followed, then a gushing tide of footsteps, pouring from the building.

Blitz.

Bluebird kicked the booth door. It dented around the handle, then slammed open. Now for the few panes of glass, handful of locks, and tiny circuit of halls. Vigilantism requires a broad suite of skills, among them burglary. Bluebird skirted alarms and disarmed guards with superhuman ease. The final lock snapped under her grip, and Bluebird entered the ballroom gallery.

"Bluebird!"

The woman exclaimed and grabbed Bluebird's shoulders. She threw her weight into the superheroine, and sobbed into her chest.

"Shh," chastised Bluebird, though she pet the long dark hair of the petite stranger. "What's going on down there?"

The stranger raised her gaze to Bluebird. Recognition rang in Bluebird's head. Where did she know this woman?

"I'm the Calas daughter," she said. "You are the hero that saved my family on the balcony."

Bluebird smiled. "Looks like you could use a hero again."

"But..." the woman faltered. "You should know, it's Blitz."

"No worry. Last time was a fluke. I've got him."

Bluebird already felt cocky, but the confidence glowing in the young Calas's eyes further assured her. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Sofia Calas."

"Well, Sofia, I recommend watching the show." Bluebird held Sofia at arms' length. "But be sure to stay up here, where it's safe."

Sofia called, "I love the cape!" as Bluebird walked to the railing of the gallery. From her perch, she evaluated the situation.

The ballroom was huge, with three layers of galleries, pillars of carved marble, and scarlet curtains lining the walls. Across the floor stood a fleet of tables, vacant save for unfinished wine and still-steaming dinners. Their former occupants cowered beneath tablecloths or against the walls. Henchmen blocked the doorways, machine guns pressed against their torsos.

And there, in the clearing meant for the mayor's speech, stood Blitz. Even from above, he looked huge. Did he buy a tighter shirt, or had the buttons always clung so tightly to his pecs and abs? And those biceps, clearly defined even beneath his sleeves. Bluebird's lips dried.

"I have five targets," said Blitz. Without shouting, the bass of his voice swelled to fill the cavernous room. "Only five. All corrupt politicians. Bring them forward, one at a time, and no one else will suffer. If these five truly care more for their constituents than themselves, this should be an easy decision all around. First, let's see the mayor."

"You can see the mayor!" Bluebird shouted back. She grabbed the railing in one hand, and spun herself off. Air whooped in her ears and gravity left her stomach until she landed on the table. "But first, you'll have to see me."

Blitz turned to her and groaned.

Bluebird placed her fists on her hips and held herself tall. If Blitz's appearance would intimidate and attract her, hers would do the same to him. On the table, she stood several inches taller than he, and with feet spread and chest thrust forward, she almost felt bigger.

"We had an agreement!" Blitz swept the tables between them, so they pounded against the walls. Those hiding beneath scurried to the next hideaway. "You called me Master."

"No man is my master," was Bluebird's lofty reply. "I grant that you lucked out, but this time--"             

"This time?" spat Blitz. "This time, I take no pity on your helplessness. This time, you don't leave."

Bluebird laughed. Was Blitz supposed to frighten her? Her, an apprentice of Meinong? She had risen to a new league, while he remained a petty thief and hitman. She would stomp him.

"No more warnings." Blitz ran.

Bluebird leapt from the table. He reached for her ankle, but she knew the exact span of his arm. His fingers just brushed the fringe of her cape as she spun in the air to land facing his back.

Before Blitz could turn from where Bluebird had been to where she was, she slammed into him. Her head landed in the side of his ribs, while her arms clutched his stomach. His muscle felt as dense and hard as curved steel. Still, he fell, cracking a table in his descent. Bluebird pushed off him before he rose.

"I'm still just having fun," taunted Bluebird. "I haven't even begun to get serious."

"Finish him, Bluebird!"

Bluebird cocked her gaze upward, saw Sofia cheering from the third floor gallery. She considered whether to caution the young fan, but decided Blitz was no longer a threat. Let Sofia watch his downfall!

"Take your time, big boy," said Bluebird as Blitz teetered to his feet. With the massive back of his hand, he wiped a splotch of wine from his lips. "I'll let you hit first this time."

"You've improved," conceded Blitz. He stepped into Bluebird's range. True to her word, she didn't raise a hand. "But I am still your Master."

"Then hit me, Master."

Blitz's fist struck more quickly than Bluebird's conscious response system. Luckily, she required no conscious thought. She'd noticed his form, intuited his punch, and shifted a few inches to avoid the jab.

Now Blitz roared with each blow. Two more punches, a kick. Bluebird parried one with the flick of an elbow, and the other two were no more than a swift breeze across her face.

"Watch this!" Bluebird repeated the move that fooled Meinong. The cape fluttered to the left, disorienting Blitz while she shifted the direction of her momentum, drew back a fist, and Bam!

Blood splurted from Blitz's nostrils. From the gallery, Sofia hopped and applauded. "Bluebird's wrecking you Blitz! She's wrecking you!"

"Sure, she's just a fan of mine," said Bluebird, now stepping into Blitz's range, preparing herself for the offensive. "But look at your henchmen. Even they're not so sure."

Blitz ran a tongue over his lips to catch the blood. "I'm glad you've improved."

Bluebird rolled her eyes at the bluff.

"I'm glad, because now you'll be awake for what I'm going to put you through."

"You messed with the wrong superheroine." Bluebird punched

Blitz ducked. Tightening her calves, Bluebird attempted to keep balance. But, from his lower position, Blitz grabbed the hem of her cape.

"It's a cute accessory, no doubt," said Blitz. He yanked, and Bluebird spilled to the floor. She hit the back of her head so hard she thought her teeth might shoot from her mouth.

"But it's to my advantage, not yours."

Blitz pulled the cape out from under her before Bluebird could find her center of gravity and strike.

Blitz covered Bluebird's face with the cape. The fabric pinned her eyelids shut, and the scent of detergent filled her nose. Blindly, she grasped for Blitz. While she lay blindfolded, Blitz pounded her face. Once. The crack of impact filled her ears. The back of her head cratered the floor. Twice. Three times. Until Bluebird's arms lay by her sides.

"Better." Blitz flung the cape off Bluebird's face, and she gasped for breath.

"Now Bluebird!" shouted Sofia. "Now's the perfect time!"

Couldn't Sofia see how red-faced she'd become? Bluebird couldn't even propel herself to her feet, not while lying on her back. She turned herself over, dug her fingertips into the slick marble floor. Straining, she managed to crawl an inch toward a support column.

"Not so fast."

Bluebird yelped when Blitz grabbed her cape. He dragged her across the floor like a dog on a leash. She kicked and slapped the ground, yelling for him to release her, but he paid her no mind.

"What are you doing, Bluebird?" Sofia called.

It was all Bluebird could do to stop herself from yelling, "Shut up and help me!"

"Bluebird is the greatest superheroine in the city," announced Blitz.

"Oh no," whispered Bluebird. He dragged her close to the wall, so she could smell the mud-caked soles of his henchmen's boots. As she passed, they spat on her, hot flecks landing on her ear. They jammed the butt of their guns into the back of her head. They kicked her, one even struck her so hard between the legs she thought he'd lodge his foot in her ass.

"And look at her, henchmen and citizens alike. Before Blitz, she is a mere plaything. She trained for months. You all saw the fancy tricks she perfected. And yet, in less than thirty seconds, I have reduced her to this."

"No you haven't!" screamed Sofia. "She's just getting her second wind."

"Shoot the fan down, boss?" suggested a henchman.

"No," said Blitz. "I want her to watch. I want her to see a heroine reduced to nothing."

"Please," pleaded Bluebird, softly enough for Blitz not to hear.

"This is for the Calas," said Blitz. He yanked the cape over his head, sending a squealing Bluebird across the air. She assumed he'd release the cape, flinging her against the wall. Instead the cape caught at her neck, and he slammed her to the floor. Her chest landed first, pinching her boobs between the marble and her ribcage. Tears shot from her eyes.

"I always love fighting heroes in capes," said Blitz. He didn't release her. Instead he threw her around like a ball at the end of a rope. He smashed her against pillars, broke tables against her butt, and flung her to the floor, over, and over, and over, shouting, "You. Are. Nothing." Bluebird bruised, then cut, then bled. When finally Blitz released her, into the wreckage he'd caused with her body, she lacked the strength to stand.

"Bluebird!" Sofia called. "Get up! Bluebird, quick! He's coming back."

The words froze the air in Bluebird's lungs, but she lacked the strength to heed them.

"I do like your little cheerleader."

Blitz balled her cape in his hands, tighter and tighter, pulling Bluebird up by the neck. She gagged and flailed as the fabric clawed at her throat. Blitz raised her until she stood with bent knees, then propped her against a support column. Bluebird pressed herself against the marble, just to stay afoot.

"Now's the time when, ordinarily, I'd let you scurry away and lick your wounds. But you've forfeited that option. Now I'm going to crush you. I'm going to destroy you."

"You can't." Bluebird raised her fists. Thanks to her rapid metabolism, she already stood without support. "Not when you're in prison."

The henchmen jeered. Sofia applauded. Blitz swung a fist. Bluebird threw herself sideways, so his knuckles pounded a hole in the pillar. Flecks of marble hailed across Bluebird's arms. She coughed the smoke.

"So are you going to destroy me or not, then?"

"Quiet, girl." Blitz cracked his knuckles, but Bluebird was not to be intimidated. She had almost recovered from the first beating.

"As long as you can't hit me, you can't win. And with this," Bluebird furled her cape, "and my training, you won't land another punch."

Blitz's shout almost paralyzed Bluebird, but she shook herself in time to dodge a fist. It grazed her ear and stung like sandpaper, but no worse. In one motion, she avoided a slap, spun, and landed a roundhouse kick to Blitz's chin. He barely flinched but, by the recoil in Bluebird's leg, she must have hit hard.