Thea knew perfectly well what those old hags were up to — and she had to admit, they'd picked their timing cleverly.
A normal person, in a new environment, worried about an unknown competition, wouldn't have slept a wink their first night. But Thea, calm as a cat, had slept straight through until morning. Since that trick failed, they switched tactics: strike fast, give her no prep time, summon her half-awake before she was at her best.
And to make it worse, they'd pulled breakfast from under her nose — all to leave her physically hungry and mentally foggy. Then, just to rub salt in, they sent out the fully rested, muscle-packed Amazon for a contest clearly chosen to favor her: javelin throwing.
One glance at Thea's slender frame versus her opponent's towering build was enough to make the crowd whisper. The outcome looked obvious.
The nastiest of the priestesses smiled sweetly at her, all gentle wrinkles and soft eyes, though inside she was already rehearsing how she'd twist Thea's defeat into an attack on Hippolyta's authority.
Oh, you're a piece of work, Thea thought, watching the murmuring crowd. If you were an employee at Queen Consolidated, I'd have transferred you to Siberia for "character development."
"Hey… can you actually do this?" Diana whispered, worried.
Her concern wasn't unfounded. The island's anti-magic field was so strong it completely shut down Thea's mana. Even Diana, a demigoddess, had lost more than half her divine power. Having grown up inside that suppression zone, Diana didn't realize how much stronger she normally was.
Thea, of course, only nodded. "Relax. I've got this."
Since figuring out the priests' scheme, she'd quietly attached her mechanical arm beneath her sleeve. Perfectly fitted, invisible under her clothes. If they wanted to play dirty, she'd play smarter. She'd been willing to compete fair—until they made that impossible. Fine, she thought, time to show them what "miracles" really look like.
Soon, a warrior brought over two gleaming javelins and presented them to the leaders.
Even Hippolyta frowned slightly. A test of strength, not skill—it was crude. The result wouldn't matter much to her politically, but still, a win was better than a loss. She checked the weapons. No tampering.
When Thea and the dark-skinned Amazon stepped forward, the queen leaned closer and whispered, "No pressure, my dear. Win or lose, it doesn't matter."
Thea smiled brilliantly. Oh, it'll matter. With her hidden enhancements, even Diana herself would have trouble matching her strength under this magic lockdown.
The crowd parted, leaving a clear lane down the field. The meaning was obvious: Throw as far as you can that way.
"Who's first?" Thea asked. The tall Amazon just glared, silent and puffing up her chest. Great, Thea thought, what are we supposed to do, throw at the same time? Then she'll claim hers landed farther no matter what.
Before the tension could thicken, the same treacherous priestess from that morning stepped out again, smiling her snake-oil smile. "You're our guest, Miss Thea. Let Artemis throw first."
Thea nodded politely and stepped back. So that's the plan—let the big one make a spectacle, crush my confidence. Cute.
She gestured. "Go ahead."
Since this wasn't an official sport, there were no lines or measuring marks. The only "judges" were hundreds of sharp-eyed Amazons. You could take a running start if you wanted—no one would stop you.
The dark Amazon inhaled deeply, centering herself. Right hand gripping the javelin, she sprinted forward—heavy footfalls pounding the stone. Ten meters, fifteen—then she twisted her torso, coiled every muscle, and let out a roar.
"Ahhh—!"
The javelin flashed through the air like lightning, tracing a perfect arc before slamming into the earth far away with a heavy thunk.
Not bad at all. Thea squinted, gauging distance. Roughly five hundred feet—about a hundred and fifty meters. That was… insane. The world record barely passed a hundred. She'd just smashed it by fifty meters without breaking a sweat.
Figures, Thea thought. Clay-born demigods. Even their physics are broken. No wonder those scheming priestesses picked this event—they knew how absurdly strong these Amazons were.
The crowd erupted in chatter. The priestesses didn't even bother quieting them.
"That's probably her best throw ever!" one admirer gushed.
"That outsider's finished," another murmured with cool detachment.
Only Diana, held back by Hippolyta, said nothing, her brow furrowed with worry.
Thea ignored them all. She'd survived Star City tabloids calling her every name in the book; a few whispers wouldn't even scratch her composure.
Besides—she didn't need composure. She had power. The mechanical arm hummed softly under her sleeve, calibrated to five tons of force. Her opponent? Maybe one at best. This wouldn't be a contest; it would be a demonstration.
"Wait—she's using her left arm?" someone in the crowd muttered.
"A lefty?"
"Her stance looks awful. Has she never thrown before?"
Thea sighed inwardly. No, she hadn't. Her mother had raised her for piano and posture, not athletics. No one in Star City high society handed their daughters a spear.
Moira taught etiquette, Malcolm taught assassination—but javelin? Not on the syllabus. The only person she could imagine having tried it was Batman—and even then, doubtful.
The spectators' tone made her twitch. "She's never practiced javelin?" It sounded like pity mixed with superiority. Please. In the modern world, who even trains for this? You're the ones stuck in the Bronze Age!
She tuned them out, testing the weapon's weight in her left hand. All-metal, heavier than standard—but to her, it felt weightless.
She turned, catching the priestess's smug, expectant smile. "All right then," she said brightly. "Watch closely."
"Yes, yes, we're watching," the woman cooed. She could barely contain her glee.