[ Forest, Star City Outskirts ]
It might've looked like they had returned to their earlier stalemate, each one calculating the other's next move like a twisted game of chess—but the truth was far from it.
Malcolm was injured, unarmed, and cornered. With only his fists and feet left, the man who once stood at the top one of the best fighter of the League of Assassins was now fighting with the weakest tools in his arsenal. His waist wound, where Thea's blade had slashed deep, was leaking blood steadily, his strength dwindling with every breath.
Thea didn't look much better at first glance. Half her face had swollen from Malcolm's earlier punch, and a steady drip of blood traced from the corner of her mouth down to the forest floor. But it was mostly superficial—brutal-looking, yes, but not debilitating. Her grip was firm, her stance solid. With a long sword still in her possession and Malcolm unarmed, the odds were stacked firmly in her favor.
She raised the sword above her head with both hands and stepped forward slowly. The position was unmistakable—the Italian high guard. A stance that preached stillness until the moment of striking, where you exploded with unstoppable force. Traditionally meant for a two-handed longsword, but a long sword worked just fine.
Malcolm kept his eyes on her shoulders, reading every tension in her muscles. In peak condition, he might have caught the strike with his bare hands. But now, pain flared in his side every time he so much as breathed. Though he'd tightened his core muscles around the injury, blood was still flowing freely, soaking through his clothes and down his leg.
He knew he had to make the first move. But rushing her would be suicide.
So he bluffed.
A forward burst—reckless on purpose.
Thea took the bait, bringing her blade down in a thunderous arc. But just before impact, Malcolm pivoted, turning his injured side away and stepping to her right. In the same motion, he brought his hand down hard against her sword wrist.
The blow jarred her. The swing had already committed too far to recover. Forced to abandon the weapon, Thea twisted on her heel and dropped into a defensive stance, but not before hurling the blade out of the immediate combat zone. She wasn't about to let Malcolm reclaim it.
Now it was down to fists.
Hand-to-hand combat had always been one of Thea's primary focuses. During their daily sparring sessions, she'd matched Malcolm move for move. And now, with him unarmed and injured? She had the upper hand. This was exactly what she'd aimed for—using her strengths to tear apart his weaknesses.
As for fairness? Thea didn't believe in it.
"Knights fight fair," she muttered under her breath. "But I'm no knight. I'm a Queen. There's only one Artoria—and that sure as hell isn't me."
She moved with explosive energy, launching a flurry of jabs and low kicks. Malcolm did his best to counter, but each movement reopened his wound. Blood now poured freely from his side, the burst of exertion earlier having ruptured what little clotting had formed.
He knew it was over.
If this were a fight to the death, he might've tried to take her down with him. But there was no need for that now.
With a backward leap, he broke free of the close-range clash, raising a shaky hand.
"Enough," he rasped. "I've taught you all I can. Don't waste your talent, Thea. You can go now. And don't come looking for me again."
Thea's eyes fell on his wound. Despite the blood, she could tell it wasn't life-threatening. With the given ancient remedies Malcolm had from Ra's al Ghul, he'd be patched up within days.
She gave a small bow.
"Thank you for everything. I'll remember these hundred and eighty days. Truly."
With that, she turned, picked up her sword, dagger and bow, and walked out of the forest. And as for the three unconscious men still lying around? Well, she hadn't killed them. That was already generous. Did they expect her to call an ambulance? Batman beat people half to death and left them hanging from lampposts in front of the police station. When did he ever call 911?
According to the world's logic—life or death was their fate.
Malcolm watched her disappear into the trees. His proud stance slumped a little, and he groaned.
This unfilial daughter, he chuckled in his heart, tying his coat around his waist. "That punch hurt me more than it hurt her."
Then, his voice dropped to a whisper.
"Madam, what do you think of the disciple I trained? She meets your standards, yes? So…are you interested in my proposal?"
The forest remained still.
Nothing. Not even a breath.
Only a few birds blinked at him from the branches above, as if mocking his attempt.
"They left," Malcolm realized grimly. "Didn't even say goodbye. I hate people who suppress their presence like that."
Grumbling, he began limping back home to patch himself up.
...
Meanwhile, Thea was rubbing her jaw, half-grumbling and half-laughing at the mess of her face.
"That punch better not ruin my cheekbones," she muttered. "It's a crime to hit someone this pretty. No wonder he's single."
Still, underneath her complaints, she was buzzing.
The fight had ignited something in her—a primal flame, a warrior's joy. Her father's words might have been harsh, but he wasn't wrong. She was a natural-born fighter. Even now, minutes later, her blood was still racing. She could feel it—her body was alive, every nerve humming like it had been supercharged.
But just as she tried to calm her breathing, she felt something off.
She spun, drawing her blade in an instant.
"Who's there? Come out!"
"Well-spotted," a voice called, smooth but laced with steel. Foreign—not American.
From the shadows emerged a woman. Long, black hair that gleamed like obsidian, eyes that sparkled with sharp awareness. She wore a black trench coat, tight leather pants, and moved with the grace of a blade being drawn.
Thea blinked.
Who was this?
Definitely not from Arrow or The Flash. With that kind of presence? She wasn't a background character. And Thea was in no shape for another fight.
She held her blade steady. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"You may call me Lady Shiva," the woman replied, voice as calm as winter frost. "I was sent to evaluate you. I had intended to offer training. But after watching your duel, I must say—I'm impressed. Against a superior opponent, you fought with strategy and spirit. You turned the tables. That takes something special."
She tilted her head. "Would you become my disciple?"
Lady Shiva? The name didn't register right away.
Definitely not from Star City. The vibe she gave off screamed Gotham. And she didn't seem like a metahuman—more like someone honed by relentless training.
And when she said she'd been sent by someone… who else could it be but Malcolm? No way Felicity had pulled this off.
Should she accept?
Lady Shiva radiated cold power—nothing about her said "hero." She was danger incarnate.
But then again… Malcolm had been dangerous too. And he'd taught her well.
"What would you teach me?" Thea asked, narrowing her eyes.
"You have a good foundation," Lady Shiva replied. "I would teach you the essence of combat—and sharpen your perception to its limits."
Thea nearly smirked. Somewhere, Malcolm was probably clutching his chest. All his training? Just the foundation?
Still, she was curious.
And intrigued.
To Be Continued...
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[POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS]