While resting with her eyes closed, Thea reviewed the spoils of her latest adventure. The battle itself—far above her usual power level—had been more of a spectacle than a lesson. She'd glimpsed the view from the mountaintop but gained little actual insight. Her growth had been too fast, her foundation too shallow; mastering those higher-level energies was still a distant dream.
The godblood was a minor success. Ray Palmer's recovery had made her realize how dangerous that stuff really was. It wasn't something you could just absorb for fun. Giving it to Malcolm or Moira—or even taking it herself—would require careful planning.
Ray was lucky. Stupidly, absurdly lucky. The conversion process had been much more violent than she'd expected. Only the clash between the godblood's divinity and the residual darkness of the Underworld had stopped him from detonating like a human grenade.
In the end, when the storm settled, most of the energy had burned away—but he'd lived, and his body had been reforged. The result of sheer plot armor and divine dumb luck.
She could reproduce that process, theoretically, but the energy loss was huge. Wasteful. That sort of thing required patience and precision.
Then there was the Eye of Horus. Unlike the comic-book version you could just pluck out and plug in, this wasn't a prosthetic. It was an upgrade, a spiritual reinforcement of her own sight.
Testing it had been… impressive. Covering one eye and peering into the distance, she realized her range had multiplied many times over. At least she wouldn't end up like Kakashi—perfectly healthy but forced to wear an eyepatch just to look cool.
Where she'd once been able to spot movement a hundred meters away, now she'd flown high above the ground, focused until the veins on her temples bulged—and still hadn't found her visual limit.
At night, it was even more insane. Staring up at the stars, her magic had kicked into overdrive until she'd hastily shut her eyes in panic—she could see the craters on the moon. A bit more power and she probably could've zoomed in on Mars, but the mana drain was ridiculous.
For Horus, the eye had been a tool of judgment—a divine lens to separate truth from lies, good from evil. For Thea, those moral subroutines didn't activate. Instead, it granted her the ability to see the pathways of magic itself.
Before, she'd carved spell circles by intuition. Now every rune and ley line was sharp and clear, obvious to the eye. There were surely deeper powers hidden in it; she just hadn't unlocked them yet.
Different wielders, different manifestations—divine power adjusted itself to its host's nature. In her case, "x-ray vision" seemed to come as a side perk.
And yes, that part bothered her a bit. She couldn't help but notice she was drifting ever closer to the Superman/Supergirl archetype. First the sunlight absorption, now literal super-vision. If Batman ever found out, her credibility with him would plummet again—and she had no way to explain it.
He might be the world's greatest detective, but how do you rationalize "I accidentally inherited a god's eye" to a man who trusts technology over miracles?
She sighed. She was definitely migrating into the "Superman camp." Good thing she was a woman—Bruce wouldn't do anything rash, but she'd no doubt end up on his little black list. Then again, the man even kept notes on how to defeat himself, so his paranoia was a lost cause anyway.
Turning the Orb of Horus in her hand, she noticed that the once-brilliant sphere had dimmed. Since her own power and Horus's eye shared the same source, she could feel it clearly—the orb's magic was fading, its energy unraveling with every passing second.
With the god dead, the divine connections that had fueled Hawkgirl and Vandal Savage had already dissolved. This relic, too, was approaching the end of its lifespan.
Letting it crumble would be a waste. Consulting the fragments of information she'd extracted from Gideon and the faint runes still readable through her new sight, Thea prepared to absorb the fire-aligned energy sealed in the orb's ruby core. Unfortunately, her body was currently saturated with light-aspected mana; there was no room for another element.
So she sealed the orb away for later, waiting until she returned to her own time to do it properly.
As for Horus's staff, she didn't need to ask around—she could sense it wasn't here in this era. Not that it mattered; even if it were, it would be just another divine relic turned useless without its god. Maybe the golden stick would fetch a nice price at auction, but that was about it.
The night passed quietly.
By morning, Thea joined the crew for breakfast. Say what you would about time-travel ships—the convenience was unbeatable. Anything you could imagine, Gideon could synthesize.
Sick of the perpetual British gloom that passed for an American breakfast, she made her own meal: a bowl of millet porridge, a basket of steamed dumplings, and a small plate of pickled vegetables. The hot, savory aroma filled the cabin.
Sara Lance, who'd once been an assassin and could manage a few words of Mandarin, took one look, dumped her own breakfast, and ordered the same. She ate in blissful silence.
The rest of the team had mixed reactions—some intrigued, some too polite to copy her, others just not into foreign food. Thea ignored them all. After finishing, she wiped her hands, ready to return to her sunbathing routine.
"Thea—thank you."
She turned at the doorway. Ray Palmer stood there with Kendra at his side, both bowing slightly.
Thea smiled faintly. She couldn't exactly grab him by the collar and yell, 'Where's my payment?' so she kept it casual. "How's the body? Any new abilities?"
Ray shook his head. "Nothing special that I can tell… but my strength, speed, and endurance—they're off the charts!" He grinned, showing all eight perfect teeth, looking genuinely thrilled.
"Oh?" Thea arched a brow. "No new powers, huh?" She pulled him toward the testing chamber. "Let's find out what you can really do."
The rest of the Legends followed, curiosity piqued.
The results were better than expected. Ray was ecstatic. Beneath the charming scientist exterior, he'd always been a bit frail—too many years of late-night lab work had hollowed him out. Even a random civilian could probably outmuscle him before.
Now, though, even after losing most of the godblood's power in the process, his body was completely transformed. Every reading surpassed human limits.
In raw numbers, he was on par with Captain America. The kind of man who could take a bullet, hit the floor, and stand up again seconds later.
Good thing he'd left his own timeline—otherwise the world would've just gained another superhuman to add to the ever-growing "Superman roster," whether he liked it or not.