As the dust began to settle Hikaru got up, heading straight for the pit.
"What are you doing?" Terra called after him.
He didn't answer. His hands blazed with light as he tore through chunks of concrete and twisted rebar. He's not dead. He's too good to be dead. The thought looped through his mind like a warning siren. Deathstroke wasn't the kind of enemy who died conveniently. Wasn't the kind of threat that disappeared just because you buried him.
His light carved through the rubble with surgical precision, each blast revealing more of the collapsed shipping containers beneath. Blood smeared across broken metal. Scorch marks from earlier combat. But no body yet.
"Hikaru, stop." Terra's hand caught his shoulder. "What are you—"
"Making sure," he said flatly.
She stared at him for a moment, then stepped back. Her expression shifted to understanding
He kept digging.
Three minutes later, his light illuminated orange and black armor half-buried beneath a shipping container. Deathstroke lay motionless, his mask cracked along the jawline. Blood seeped from somewhere beneath the chest plate. His breathing came shallow and irregular.
Unconscious. Defenseless.
Hikaru's hand ignited before he realized what he was doing. White-gold energy gathered in his palm, condensing into a focused point. One photon blast. Clean. Quick. Make it look like internal injuries from the collapse. Terra would never know. The team would never know.
He's too dangerous, Hikaru thought. He'll escape. They always do. Maximum security, Belle Reve, S.T.A.R Labs—doesn't matter. He'll break out, and he'll come back. And next time someone might not survive.
The light grew brighter. Hotter.
He tried to kill us. All of us. Set traps designed to torture and break us. Forced Terra to choose between her life and ours. Would've killed her without hesitation if it served his contract.
The photon blast hummed with lethal intent.
I could end this. Right now. One threat eliminated. One enemy who'll never hurt my team again.
"Is he...?" Terra's voice cut through his thoughts.
Hikaru froze. Looked up.
She stood at the edge of the rubble, staring down at Deathstroke's broken body. Her face was pale, streaked with dirt and blood. But her eyes held something he recognized.
She didn't kill him, he realized. Even during the heated fight.
He looked down at his hand. At the killing blow charged and ready.
If I do it now, while he's defenseless... what am I? What does it make me?
I've never killed anyone, Hikaru thought. The realization settled heavy in his chest. Don't know if I could. Don't know how it would change me afterward.
He'd fought villains. Stopped crimes. Knocked people unconscious and broken bones when necessary. But that line—the one between subduing and executing—he'd never crossed it, and he didn't know what waited on the other side.
The light in his palm flickered.
Batman wouldn't do this. Would capture him properly, trust the system, believe in redemption and rehabilitation and all those principles that sound naive until you actually have to live them.
But I'm not Batman. I'm Lucifer's son. And my father would probably respect the pragmatism.
The energy pulsed.
So what do I want to be?
Terra took a step closer, eyes still locked on his hand.
The light faded. Died. Left his palm empty and cold.
"He's alive," Hikaru said quietly. "Unconscious."
Terra exhaled. Something in her posture relaxed.
Footsteps echoed across broken asphalt. The team emerged from the wreckage—Cyborg supporting Beast Boy, Raven helping Robin, Donna carrying Kid Flash's unconscious form, Starfire hovering with visible burns across her arms.
"Is it over?" Robin's voice was rough, exhausted.
"Yeah." Hikaru stepped away from Deathstroke's body. "It's over."
Robin activated his communicator. "This is Robin. Requesting immediate S.T.A.R. Labs containment team. Priority Alpha threat secured." He rattled off coordinates, then looked at Hikaru. "They'll hold him this time. Meta-human prison. Maximum security."
Hikaru watched the steady rise and fall of Deathstroke's chest. He'll escape. They always do.
But he nodded anyway. "Right."
The containment team arrived twelve minutes later—four armored vans, a dozen specialists with enough restraints to hold a small army. They stabilized Deathstroke's injuries first, then locked him in a coffin-sized transport pod lined with power dampeners and sedative mists.
Hikaru watched them seal the container. Watched them load it into the lead van. Watched the convoy pull away with police escort and helicopter surveillance.
At least I didn't cross that line, he thought. Not today.
Terra appeared beside him, silent.
"You think they'll actually hold him?" she asked after a moment.
"No." The word came out flat, honest. "But maybe that's not the point."
She looked at him sideways. "Then what is?"
Hikaru turned away from the disappearing convoy. Faced his team—bloodied, exhausted, but alive. Together.
"Maybe the point is we're not like him," he said. "We don't kill defenseless people. Even when they deserve it. Even when it'd be easier."
Terra was quiet for a long moment. Then: "That's a pretty hard ideal to live up to."
"Yeah." Hikaru felt the weight of it settle across his shoulders. The choice made, the line not crossed. "Guess we'll see if I can manage it."
She smiled faintly—the first genuine expression he'd seen from her since the battle began. "For what it's worth? I'm glad you did."
The team gathered around them. Cyborg's arm sparked. Donna's armor was cracked. Beast Boy's unconscious form shifted weakly between animal shapes. Kid Flash groaned himself awake. Raven's cloak hung in tatters. Starfire's glow had dimmed to barely visible. Robin stood perfectly still, the kind of stillness that came from ignoring too many injuries.
They looked like hell.
But they were breathing.
"Come on," Robin said. His voice carried the weight of command despite visible exhaustion. "Let's go home."