Wonder Woman moved with predator's grace, each footstep light yet deliberate as she ventured further into the Watchtower. Her breathing was slow, measured, and controlled. In her hands, the Sword of Athena gleamed wickedly under the flickering emergency lights, and her shield was raised, ready to deflect any attack.
The once pristine cafeteria was a battlefield waiting to happen. She scanned the area looking for any signs of life before her ears twitched ever so slightly.
A sudden gunshot cracked through the air, loud and violent.
Diana reacted instantly, instincts honed through centuries of war. Her blade swung upward in a sharp arc, slicing the speeding bullet in two with an effortless, precise motion. The severed pieces clattered harmlessly to the floor.
She narrowed her sapphire eyes, scanning the empty room. No sign of her attacker, but her Amazon senses caught the subtle shift of weight, the faint scuff of boots against metal flooring.
"Show yourself!" she commanded, her voice a sonorous boom of righteous fury. "Face me with honor!"
A chuckle, low and mocking, echoed from the shadows.
"Honor's overrated," Deathstroke's voice drawled. "I know I can't take you in a fair fight, Princess. I'm not suicidal."
Out of sight, Deathstroke jammed a thick needle into his thigh. The serum ignited in his bloodstream like liquid fire. His vision turned blood-red, his muscles swelled, tendons snapping and reattaching themselves for greater strength. His breathing deepened into a monstrous growl.
"But I have a reputation to maintain," he said darkly.
Without warning, Deathstroke exploded from the shadows, twin katanas flashing with lethal intent. Diana met his charge with a furious clash of steel, her sword intercepting his twin strikes with a screech of metal against metal.
"This is just business," Deathstroke grunted, locking blades with her.
"Business or not, you will fall," Diana snapped. "Arrogance will be your downfall."
They traded blows with blinding speed—slashes, thrusts, counters. Deathstroke's new strength allowed him to absorb her crushing blows, even managing to sidestep a deadly thrust and slice a shallow gash across her cheek.
The cut stung, blood dripping down her jawline, but Diana only smiled grimly.
She raised her shield just in time to block a savage overhand strike, sparks flying from the collision. Her retaliation was swift—a thunderous kick to Deathstroke's chest that sent him skidding backwards, boots tearing grooves into the floor.
Diana lunged, carving a brutal slash across his chest. His tactical armor split open with a wet tear, blood blooming in a hot spray.
For a heartbeat, they stood still, breathing heavily, both warriors silently acknowledging the other's prowess.
Then they charged.
The room devolved into chaos. Blades whistled through the air, shields crashed, fists hammered into flesh. Deathstroke parried a deadly sweep and ducked under a shield bash, stepping into Diana's guard and smashing his forehead into her faceplate with a resounding crack.
Diana staggered back, momentarily dazed. Blood trickled from her nose, her vision momentarily doubled.
"You're better than I expected," she admitted, rolling her shoulders.
Deathstroke smirked, blood staining his teeth. "I'm full of surprises."
"So am I."
With a sudden burst of speed, Diana hurled her shield like a discus. Deathstroke barely dove aside in time, the edge nicking his armor. He growled but too late did he realize it was a feint.
Her sword followed.
The blade struck with brutal accuracy, embedding itself deep into his thigh. Deathstroke roared in agony, dropping to one knee as blood gushed from the wound.
Diana closed the distance in a flash, her gauntleted fist slamming upward into his chin with a sickening crack, lifting him off the ground. Before he could hit the floor, she spun and drove a vicious elbow into his temple.
Deathstroke crumpled, unconscious, before his body even slammed against the floor.
Diana stood over him, chest heaving, blood streaking her armor and staining her hands.
She pulled her sword free with a wet, tearing noise and wiped the blade clean on his tattered armor. She retrieved her shield, securing it to her back.
"You were wrong to believe yourself my equal," she murmured, almost pitying him. "Your arrogance was your true weakness."
She took a steadying breath, forcing down the rage that clawed at her. It would be so easy to end him now, but the League's code was clear.
Mercy, not murder.
Hoisting Deathstroke's unconscious form over her shoulder, she turned and sprinted toward the nearest corridor, heart pounding.
She prayed the others were still alive.