This battle was nothing like their last archery duel.
That had been a half-hearted skirmish—Talia, wary of a trap from her father, had held back,
and Thea hadn't wanted to fight her at all.
Both sides had kept their power restrained.
But this time was different.
Talia believed her "younger sister" had won their father's favor—
and the thought burned inside her.
All her years of struggle, all her loyalty, all her pain—none of it had earned her that same regard.
Now, rage clouded everything.
She forgot about Catwoman, forgot about her son, even forgot about Batman.
All she wanted was to prove that she, Talia al Ghul, was no lesser than the so-called "sister."
Thea, meanwhile, hadn't even planned on fighting.
Dragged into it to shield Catwoman, she could only curse her luck—
the most unjust case in all of Gotham.
At first she'd fought cautiously, mindful that this was Batman's woman,
and Green Arrow's future teacher besides.
But after a few close calls, her patience snapped.
Enough.
If Catwoman could have Bruce, if Green Arrow needed a mentor, so what?
She'd just hit back—hard.
In a word: fight back, full force.
After barely half a minute's breather, the two clashed again, blade against blade,
steel shrieking as sparks flew.
The cops and criminals watching from both sides were utterly baffled.
Wasn't this supposed to be their Gotham civil war?
Why were two outsiders stealing the show?
But with both women fighting like storms, no one dared interrupt.
Everyone in Gotham knew Talia's story—
how she had crossed half the world with her child to find her husband.
Now, watching her fight Thea so furiously,
it wasn't hard for the peanut gallery to start drawing certain conclusions.
"Heard she came to fight for her man," one of Penguin's goons muttered.
"Yeah, and that's her sister she's fighting," a Talon from the Court of Owls whispered back, as if privy to inside information.
"Then why're they going at each other like that?" a cop asked.
"Can't you tell?" a grizzled old soldier snorted. "It's family business—and you know the kind I mean. Don't ask too much."
With nothing better to do, both factions started gossiping to pass the time.
The story spread and morphed, each retelling adding new dramatic flourishes.
By the time it reached the back lines, the tale had become nearly unrecognizable—
and poor Catwoman had been completely written out of it.
When the final, most sensational version made its way—via Firefly, of all people—back to Catwoman,
she was completely dumbfounded.
The rumor now said that Talia's younger sister, who'd adored Batman since childhood,
had grown up and come to Gotham seeking "true love."
Her elder sister had opposed it fiercely,
and so the "Battle of Gotham" had erupted between them.
And the "source"?
A longtime member of Talia's own entourage—making it sound so credible.
As for Catwoman?
She didn't even make a cameo in this revised legend.
Talia's underlings hadn't thought she mattered enough to mention.
So there Selina stood, surrounded by sideways glances and whispered speculation,
her expression blank.
Fine, she thought bitterly. Pretend I don't exist. Just wait—one day I'll rob every one of your houses blind.
Unaware that she'd not only taken the blame but been erased from the story entirely,
Thea and Talia's duel had entered its final stage.
Talia's advantage lay in experience.
Both women had been taught by their fathers,
but compared to Ra's al Ghul, Malcolm Merlyn was in a different league entirely.
Even though Thea had later trained under Lady Shiva,
she still lacked Talia's battlefield instincts.
But Thea had youth on her side.
She was sixteen; Talia was past thirty, a full generation older,
and motherhood had taken its toll.
Never trust experts who say childbirth doesn't affect one's body—
there's a reason no martial arts masters level up after giving birth.
"Hah!"
Thea tilted her head aside, dodging a downward slash,
then spun with the motion, switching her sword to her left hand
and slicing at Talia's waist in a single fluid motion.
Talia's form was starting to falter.
She bent backward into a bridge to avoid the strike—barely.
Thea pressed her advantage.
Before Talia could rise, she swung both hands down in a brutal overhand strike.
Talia rolled, sweeping her legs to hook Thea's and drag her down.
But Thea saw through it.
Her feet dug into the ground—left foot forward, right turned across—
forming a perfect T-stance.
That wasn't League technique.
That was Kalaripayattu, the Indian martial art Lady Shiva had taught her—
a style that mixed dance, ritual, and deadly precision.
Thea had never taken it too seriously; she preferred the straightforward, bone-breaking kind of combat.
But today, it worked like magic.
Ra's al Ghul might have known the art,
but Talia clearly didn't.
When her legs failed to budge Thea's stance, she realized she was in trouble.
Seeing her chance, Thea twisted her wrist, bringing her blade in a diagonal arc straight toward Talia's throat.
Talia was still on the ground—no way to dodge.
The humiliation stung worse than the danger itself.
To lose to someone half her age—her own "sister"—
was unbearable.
Reflex overrode pride.
She thrust her knife upward toward Thea's heart.
"Selina—now!" Bruce's shout burst through the comms, raw with panic.
Thea and Talia were moving too fast.
By the time anyone reacted, it was almost too late.
Catwoman flung her throwing knives, ready to intervene.
But Thea had expected the counterattack.
She'd kept a dagger unused until now—
and with a ringing clang, she parried Talia's blade aside.
Her sword stopped just at Talia's throat.
"You lose," Thea said quietly.
"Thea, don't—" Bruce's voice was desperate.
Commissioner Gordon opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.
"For your trial," Talia said calmly, tossing her knife aside.
She didn't even try to get up. "Finish it."
Trial, my ass, Thea thought.
She'd already won. What was she supposed to gain from killing her?
There were no rewards, no achievements for murder—
and Bruce would never forgive her if she did.
Still, walking away without doing anything would break League protocol—
and the hundred black-clad assassins watching made that clear.
Even Bruce, who knew the rules, hesitated.
To interrupt now would insult both women.
Thea froze, sword still poised.
Five long seconds passed.
Damn it, she thought, could someone please give me a way out of this?
And just as she was thinking that—
Three spinning, razor-edged blades suddenly came whirring toward her out of nowhere.