When the so-called "truth" was revealed, it didn't just leave Thea reeling—even the entire hero side was shaken.
Watching remotely, Bruce Wayne—supposedly the man with the world's highest IQ—had been mentally bracing himself to watch the two women in his life tear each other apart.
But instead of a fiery clash, the situation had somehow twisted into… whatever this was.
"Thea, are you actually—?"
Bruce had spent plenty of time in Nanda Parbat, though he'd never met Nyssa herself. He only knew of her.
Still, he understood how the League of Assassins operated, so Talia's suspicions made perfect sense to him.
And with that hyper-analytical mind of his, he caught another detail almost instantly—
Thea. Talia. The names were similar.
In less than five seconds, Bruce's brain had already spun through a dozen possibilities—
etymology, genealogy, bloodline theory—
and concluded that there was at least a 90% chance the two were related.
Sometimes, reading too many detective novels was a curse. He was way overthinking it.
Thea, of course, could never admit to any of that nonsense.
She had nothing to do with Ra's al Ghul, the world's most notorious supervillain!
"We're not related. You have to believe me."
Her tone did little to ease Bruce's doubt.
Finding out that a promising young ally might secretly be his sister-in-law was… not something the billionaire vigilante had a facial expression for.
He could only sigh to himself. What a small world.
If Thea simply removed her hood, Talia would immediately realize her mistake—
Ra's al Ghul was Middle Eastern,
while Thea was white down to the eighth generation.
Anyone who wasn't face-blind could tell the difference.
But revealing her face went against her code of caution.
With Gotham crawling with lunatics, she couldn't risk exposing her identity.
If Talia wanted to misunderstand—well, let her.
Ignoring the strange looks from everyone around her, Thea stepped forward.
Talia, assuming she was accepting the challenge, mirrored the motion.
They both stopped ten paces apart.
"Let's settle this by League rules," Talia said evenly. "If I lose, I'll withdraw with my people. If you lose, the same."
She gestured, and dozens of black-clad archers emerged from the shadows.
It was unclear whether they were loyalists who'd followed her after defecting from the League,
or new recruits she'd trained herself—either way, there were nearly a hundred of them.
If all of them were even close to Yao Fei's level, that could easily sway the battle's balance.
"Good idea. Thea, take the deal," Bruce's voice came through the comms, tense.
He wanted nothing more than for his old lover to back off and never return to Gotham's chaos again.
"Agreed."
Thea was already of the same mind.
Both women removed their bows and laid them gently on the ground.
They locked eyes and drew their melee weapons—Talia her jagged blade, Thea her longsword—then performed a series of intricate gestures in unison, saluting to unseen ancient gods.
The League's traditions ran deep.
Ra's al Ghul might be a villain to the core,
but he had raised his followers to respect ceremony and the old ways.
Malcolm Merlyn, who'd once served as Ra's lieutenant, knew these rituals well.
And—of course—he'd taught them all to Thea.
That, however, created an unfortunate misunderstanding.
Each rank in the League had its own variation of the salute—tiny differences in angle and motion.
And Malcolm, once a deputy, had naturally taught Thea the deputy's version.
Talia, who'd long served as her father's right hand, had used the same one.
So now, the two women's movements were perfectly synchronized.
To onlookers, it simply looked elegant and ancient—
but to those who understood, it screamed same rank.
Watching through the monitors, Bruce felt his stomach twist.
He was one of only three people present who even recognized the gesture.
"Thea," he said into the comm, "you're part of the League?"
She wanted to quip back, No, I'm with the Horde, but had no time for jokes.
Her entire focus was on Talia's footwork, her posture, her eyes.
"No," she replied curtly.
But even that brief response threw off her rhythm.
Talia lunged, her serrated blade slashing toward Thea's neck.
Thea deflected instantly—both hands lifting her sword to catch the blow, then snapping out a swift kick aimed at Talia's midsection.
Talia, the seasoned instructor who'd once trained Yao Fei and would one day train Green Arrow himself, moved like water.
She twisted aside, turned her slash into a sweep, and ran her blade down along Thea's sword toward her fingers.
Thea flicked her wrist, switching into a Spanish fencing thrust,
the rapier-style maneuver driving straight for Talia's centerline.
"Not bad—your close combat's sharper than your archery," Talia said, blocking cleanly.
"My archery's the weakest thing about me. You've underestimated me."
Thea's sword flashed again and again—thrust, cut, parry—
every motion faster, tighter, trying to seize the initiative.
"Excellent," Talia admitted.
She had clearly taken the girl too lightly.
Last time, in their archery duel, she'd held the upper hand.
But this opponent—young, fierce, burning with focus—
was no one to be dismissed.
For all her pride as the eldest daughter of the Demon and a warrior of the League, Talia could not afford to lose.
She answered strike for strike, matching Thea's speed.
From afar, Bruce grimaced. His earlier interruption had thrown Thea off at the start,
but seeing her regain ground eased him slightly.
Still, the sight of the two women fighting tore at him.
He hated his own uselessness.
He'd asked Thea to look after Catwoman—and now, somehow, she was the one in danger.
Meanwhile, the "main" women hadn't even fought yet.
The situation was absurd.
He briefly considered suiting up and heading out himself—
then looked at the crutch leaning against his chair.
Charging into the melee half-crippled would just make him Gotham's biggest embarrassment.
He thought about giving tactical instructions remotely,
but both women were moving too fast, countering each other perfectly—like two graduates of the same school.
There was nothing he could say that would help.
Desperate, he searched for anyone who could act as backup.
His two protégés, Robin and Batgirl, were both watching the feed in awe.
Neither could hope to intervene in a fight at that level.
That left only one option—
his other lover.
"Selina," Bruce said quietly into the comm, "keep an eye on them.
If things get dangerous… stop it."
He knew the moment he said it, she'd understand exactly what he meant—
and hate it.
Asking one lover to protect another was beyond awkward, even for him.
Sure enough, a sharp, jealous snort came through the line.
Then silence.
Meanwhile, on the field, the two women's battle had reached its peak.
Thea took a cut to her left shoulder; Talia's face was bloodied from a punch that split her lip.
Both retreated three steps, circling warily, blades raised,
each trying to catch the faintest opening in the other's guard.
The tension between them was palpable—two predators, both wounded, both refusing to yield.