Friga’s Day Flash Fiction: Zen, trod he!

Gr’ozz had just suffered an embarrassing trouncing at the hands of the super-terrorist Metatronicus, grabbed like a child’s toy and smashed through the lower deck flooring and hull of an old Soviet submarine remade into a base of operations.

Gr’ozz was even in his own estimation smart as a rock, but his occasional moments of zen were unmatched in the supernormal community. He cared not. The Dunning-Kruger effect was not part of his mental makeup. Still smart enough to know his intellectual limits, modest enough not to resent them.

This time, as with the other fights he’d been in, a tiny glimmering of brilliance impinged on his awareness, and he ran with it. Another moment of zen. He smiled, as he suddenly noted that he was in the icy deeps — his smile was not a friendly one.

He suddenly hit upon the fact that while Metatronicus was stronger than he, he was still only human…he must breathe air, unlike Gr’ozz’s species, the Dragons. Gr’ozz swam leisurely back to the submarine, his flattened tail swaying from side to side while the ideas took root in his normally almost vegetative mind, taking shape and driving his next actions like a reflex.

Gr’ozz swam so as to minimize his sonar signature, not that they were likely to be listening in anyway, going to the area of the hull just below where Metatronicus last stood. He stopped suddenly, took a listen. Yes, footsteps, the pattern matching his foe’s stride.

Gr’ozz waited, and suddenly thrust his hand through the hull, ripping it open again at full strength, and hoping his estimation was correct. He grabbed what felt like his foe’s ankle. Pulling downward through the hole he’d made in the deck, he heard the sound of tearing metal as the hole he’d made was opened wider still by Metatronicus’s body being pulled through it and into the ocean.

Not one to gloat — he didn’t know what that was yet — he saw his enemy’s face as the otherwise empowered human began to inhale water, and suffer from the crushing pressure at this depth. Supernormal powers would be of no use here.

Metatronicus tried to gasp for air, and Gr’ozz began pounding his fist, a mace of sculpted bone, into his foe’s face at his leisure, and satisfied with rendering him unconscious, swam to shore with his now helpless captive. His teammates would certainly appreciate having someone to question, and another human who would harm his own species to lock up for good. Life is suffering, but so for bad guys as well.

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