Courage or Cowardice?
By BlueBlade, thosrift@hotmail.com
What Belle does to the brave.


I never wrestle brave men.
By the time we're thirty seconds in, 
And they've seen and felt what they're up against, 
All my victims are reduced to quivering, fear-laden boys.

And then the fun begins!


A Good Deed, Part 1

He was the man that grandfather had said was the bad man. I had to destroy
him: a child murderer, a torturer, a rapist. Now that we were together in the
cage I had no doubt of the outcome. My 175 pounds of steel were more than
enough to destroy his 240 pounds of muscle and whalebone.

But he came on confidently. We each wore red shorts only, shoes, and taped fists, 
and I think he was so sure of himself he let his gaze fall and linger on my 
breasts. It was the last sight his right eye ever had, as I darted by him and 
plunged two sharp-nailed fingers into his orbit, scooping out the offending organ 
and stamping it underfoot while he bellowed like he'd actually begun to feel what I 
was going to do with him, which was a laugh. He staggered, screaming, clutching 
at the empty socket, swaying on his wide-apart legs, and I kicked up hard from 
behind with my left foot, aiming to strike up from below and drive through all the 
intermediate tissue to his liver. Of course I got nowhere close; it was a technique 
to concentrate force. I concentrated enough force to rupture his right testicle and 
dislocate his right hip, and he crumpled, bawling like I thought any man would be 
ashamed to bawl.

That is why I have that verse at the beginning of this series:
I never fight brave men.

They were short rounds and the first bell rang. I laughed at him loudly and 
openly, as his second tried to lift him and help him back to his corner of the cage. 
Because my aim is never to destroy my opponent physically only. They must also 
be shattered emotionally -- and in other ways; indeed in all possible ways.


Part 2

In my corner, Alum my second, stepped in through the little cage door, glanced
across at my roaring opponent, and then quickly looked me over. She was a
short but immensely strong Ethiopian woman (a Gurage), a tough fighter in her
own right and also a nurse; a useful second. She took a few moments to inspect 
me, then shrugged, gave me a knowing smile, and said, "Drink something." Then 
she ducked swiftly out the cage door, clanging it loudly behind her; and the 
official double-padlocked it.

I sipped Alum's water-and-herb formula, letting my mind relax, but allowing
myself to think how many children and women would be safe after this fight, and 
how pleased Grandfather would be. I just touched on those thoughts, but did not 
let my cold fire burn down: I needed that to finish this piece of vicious trash. 

Suddenly a scream erupted from the far corner: the bastard's second had popped 
the hip joint back into place, and it was making my opponent uncomfortable. I 
laughed a high-pitched laugh, making sure he'd hear it; many in the audience 
laughed mockingly as well. His second thrust a needle into his groin, obviously 
full of painkiller. The officials allowed very local anesthetics, because if they 
didn't, the fights here were so savage that often there wouldn't even be a second 
round, let alone a third. Then he drove a second needle just under where my 
antagonist's eye had been.

I put down the water - the bell would come soon. That evil man stood up, glaring 
at me, his face red and his boxing shorts a darker crimson than the fabric. His 
second ducked out fast: the door clanged to. I came up smoothly onto the balls of 
my feet, but did not yet raise my hands. He waved to Foxe the referee, a tall, lean-
legged but oak-tree-armed Native American who'd spent years at this job.

"What?" said the ref.

"If I - " He slurred the words and had to cough explosively to get them out
properly: "If I concede the match, I lose the deposit money, right?"

"Right, Grant; you lose it all. But you can't concede. It's a KO match. Not
over till one of you or both are out."

"Goddamnit, I've just lost an eye and a testicle!" shouted Grant.

"That's no one's problem but yours, man," said Foxe.

"But-but that's criminal... its-it's immoral!" shouted Grant, his voice
rising to a whine. The audience exploded with derisive laughter and catcalls.

"You read the print, your second read the print, and you signed! Bell!"

"No, they tricked me -- "

The bell and the crowd's roar drowned out his pathetic attempts to escape the
inevitable.

My opponent raised his fists, but didn't approach. I stepped a few paces toward 
him, arms down, and we began to circle slowly counterclockwise. It seemed he 
could not move fast because of the hip injury, but I didn't want to underestimate 
him. I knew he was a very subtle operator who could kill in dozens of different 
ways. Grandfather had told me everything. Time to knock him more off-balance.

"Hey Grant!" I called. "I can take that other tiny ball of yours and break all
your long bones before you pass out, you trash! I can even skin half of your
body while you're still awake! You've got a long evening of agony ahead of
you, man! We're all looking forward to it!"

"Damn you, bitch!" he shouted, his nerve breaking, and he rushed at me. He 
must've been deadly desperate, because he managed a right cross to the side of my 
neck and a hard straight left to my sternum before I spun out of reach and replied 
with another savage kick right onto the crushed remnants of his right ball. 

He screamed, doubling up, and it was effortless to bring up my left knee under his 
chin, so that his head snapped backward and he reeled back and fell
against the mesh of the cage. Before he was up I was on him, driving my left
forearm sideways between his teeth, holding his jaws open, and then gripping
his mouth and chin with my right and yanking down and outward with what I
calculated was adequate strength. There was a great SNAP! as the bottom jaw
came away from its bone moorings. But I had not ripped away the tongue or the
skin, so his jaw hung there uselessly. The crowd went even wilder. 

I drove four punches fast into his ribs, breaking one, maybe two, then spun him 
around so he was atop me. I stood suddenly with him up on my shoulders, then 
lifted him up onto my raised hands. He was screaming and sobbing and crying out 
for help. When he bellowed for his Momma I thought it was enough for the 
moment; I hurled him down at my feet, cushioning his head with my right foot so 
he would not pass out. We all heard bones shatter at the impact. And then I 
jumped high (and I CAN jump high) and came down with both shoed feet just at
the base of his sternum. CRACK! I quickly stepped off him, as his body bucked
and arched in agony. But he was conscious, as I intended, and felt everything
I'd done to him. He lost control of his bowels and defecated in his shorts just 
as the bell sounded.

I walked quietly back to my corner, thinking:
I never fight MEN at all.
In under two minutes they're boys, bawling for Momma.

Things were proceeding nicely.


Part 3

"What are you doing, Belle?" hissed Alum as she gently sponged the side of my
neck where Grant had managed to raise a large red welt. "Are you playing? Or
are you here to finish him?"

"Can't I have both?" I smirked. But I dropped the smile at her sudden frown.
"You're right, I'm too full of myself," I said.

"That's how he landed these two," she said, finishing with my neck and then
gently touching my sternum with her deft nurse's fingers. She glanced at me,
asking, "Serious pain?" and I shook my head. I drank more water.

"Finish him fast," said Alum. "This is too important to risk anything. Anyway
you've already made all the vampires happy who want to see blood."

"Just a bit more play, sweetheart -- "

"No!" she practically steamed into my ear. "Do you want to face the old man
with the news this toxic shit got away 'cause you wanted some fun? Have fun
tomorrow! Now send this murderer down the garburetor."

I think she said something else, but missed it as a wave of dizziness came
over me at the thought of disappointing my grandfather -- who'd raised me,
trained me, given me everything. The thought of his impassive face around his
sad eyes if I told him I'd failed was too much, like a geometry compass
suddenly stuck through my heart. And it came with -- I didn't wonder why -- 
the tiniest ice-needle of fear in my belly.

I met Alum's eyes again. "Of course," I murmured.

I glanced across at Grant's corner. But Grant's second and Foxe were squatting
down in front of him, so I couldn't see much of him. He seemed out. Suddenly
Foxe straightened up shouting, "Medic!" An alarm went off with a great roar
like a foghorn and red lights came on above our opposite corners, and in a
moment two special paramedics were in the cage at Grant's side, easing him
down to the mat and then on to a stretcher. Alum stalked over to Foxe. In
twenty seconds she came back, her face flushed and frowning like thunder.

"He's had a stroke!" she said. "He's had a stroke, you stupid bitch! Now he's
going to hospital and our chance is blown. Oh, why didn't you finish him when
you could, Belle?"

"Damn me!" I said. "Grandpa will have a fit!"

"Meaning he won't but we'll wish he had," said Alum.

Foxe announced the news to the audience, who erupted into a frenzy of boos and
cursing. They'd wanted to see me toy with him some more, the trash. But Grant
was out cold, and being carried off by stretcher in a hurry -- which was
technically, in that ring, a knockout. If he was conscious his second could
step in and we had the option of either myself or Alum fighting him. But now
the fight was over.

Foxe gestured for me to come to the center of the ring, and lifted up my right
arm and the crowd went wild. Sure they wanted some more blood, but I'd given
them a lot, and they loved me. They adored me. For a few moments I reveled in
their adulation, thinking as always at that moment what I'd do when I harnessed 
that feeling. When they adored me -- and feared me -- so much I could command 
them. It wasn't long now. Maybe another couple months in this ring.
And then it would be as I'd dreamed:

Bravery is something only I can give.
And I give it only to my friends.
The others ... losers, whose fear chills them to death.

I knew that would come. But meanwhile I'd let a murderer go, and I had to
break the news to the sweetest and wisest of men.

When Alum and I got back to our apartment she insisted I call Grandfather
right away. But I refused. I said the morning was soon enough. I couldn't face
him yet, or face speaking with him. She stormed and raged, but on this point
wouldn't actually defy me (just as there were some on which I wouldn't defy her). 
But she went off huffy to spend the rest of the night with a friend. I went to 
bed, shivering, and dreamt fitfully. I kept dreaming of my adoptive twin brothers, 
Grandpa's own biological grandsons, who shared my birthday. And I remembered 
what grandpa had done the day we all turned sixteen. He'd placed two pairs of 
prize boxing gloves high up on a wall in a training gym and said to the three of us 
whoever didn't have a pair at the end of an hour he'd cut out of the will and throw 
out on the street.

Well, at the end of that hour guess who had both pairs of gloves in her 
possession? I still remember the stink of my brothers' shame, and their sobbing 
and pleading as grandfather ordered his staff to throw them out. I didn't laugh 
at them, because I was speechless with joy.

It was the best birthday I'd ever had.

I dreamt of them, looking for comfort in the memories.

But tonight it wasn't enough.