Seconds before midnight, the city held its breath. Then the world shattered.
A thunderclap ripped the sky. Explosions tore through Star City. The old courthouse erupted in a geyser of flame and shrapnel, concrete and twisted metal raining down. At the riverfront, Merlyn's arrows pinned a police cruiser to a wall, officers trapped inside as China White's mercenaries torched the city's main food depot—supplies vanishing in a blaze.
People scrambled, slipping on wet pavement, frantic cries merging with desperate pleas. Parents clutched bags of precious medicine. Smoke and burning chemicals clawed at throats, mixing with the sharp tang of relentless rain. Star City's alarms blared, but their wails were drowned by a new terror—a guttural roar as the dam upstream finally gave way.
A tsunami of dark water surged down Main Street, swallowing cars and storefronts in a heartbeat. Streetlights flickered, then died in sputtering showers of sparks. In a single horrifying moment, Star City became an island of chaos—its arteries cut, its bridges gone, its hopes drowning in the storm.
A child's stuffed bear floated away in the torrent. A woman sobbed as her pharmacy bag was ripped from her arms. Two strangers clung to each other on a rooftop, shivering and silent.
***
The Fractured Defenders~
Oliver Queen's boots sloshed through ankle-deep water as he hauled a dazed teenager onto a flimsy rescue boat, jaw aching from tension.
Oliver (gritting his teeth): "Hold on. I've got you. We're not leaving anyone behind!"
He glanced at his comm—a dead piece of plastic. He scanned rain-lashed rooftops for Dinah. Dinah, where are you? A flash of memory—her voice a lifeline through fire, years ago. He shoved it down, focusing on the present horror.
Moments later, Oliver sprinted through chest-high flood, bow ready, water churning around his hips. He spotted Merlyn atop a burning bus, nocking an arrow with a mocking salute.
Merlyn loosed first—an explosive arrow vaporized a storefront, sending glass and panic into the fleeing crowd. Oliver fired back, a net arrow snaring Merlyn's leg. Merlyn sliced free, launching a relentless barrage that forced Oliver behind a half-submerged car.
Oliver (taunting, breathless): "Running out of tricks, Merlyn?"
Merlyn (smirk cutting through the gloom): "You're the one running, Queen."
Their duel became a frantic dance—arrows hissing, each man anticipating the other's move. Oliver used a grappling arrow to swing onto a collapsed balcony, a razor-tipped shaft whizzing past his ear. He fired a flashbang arrow, the burst giving him just enough time to land a spinning kick that sent his rival splashing into the floodwater.
But Merlyn vanished, laughter echoing over the roar of water and flames. Oliver stood surrounded by a burning city block, the taste of missed opportunity sharp on his tongue. Every second I spend fighting him, someone else is in danger. Mia, Dinah—hold on. The weight of leadership pressed down—every choice a gamble, every delay a risk.
***
Across the City: Black Canary~
Dinah Lance—Black Canary—waded through swirling crowds, floodwater rising around her knees. Her gaze cut through rain to spot China White, coolly directing mercenaries as they finished torching the food depot.
Dinah's forearm snapped up to block a machete, countering with a brutal elbow. She spun, legs sweeping two mercenaries into the water, before her eyes locked onto China White.
Dinah (snarling, raw): "You're not torching another block."
China White (perfectly cool): "You're too late, Canary. The city's already lost."
They clashed—China White's blade a lethal blur, Dinah's fists and knees landing with surgical precision. Dinah caught a slashing attack, twisted, and slammed China White into a water-stained wall. A smoke grenade exploded at her feet, choking her in haze. Coughing, Dinah shielded a wounded child as China White melted into the cloud.
Dinah's comm spat static. She spun slowly, surveying the chaos, the terrified faces. Ollie's out there. Mia's out there. We're all stretched thin. Despair threatened, but she shoved it back. No. I won't let this city fall. She forced herself to her feet, hope burning fiercely against the darkness.
***
Earlier, as blackout swept the city:
Curtis Holt—Mr. Terrific—guided his T-Spheres through flooded alleys, searching for teammates. The T-Spheres pinged, highlighting a collapsed fire escape behind a pawn shop. There, in rain and debris, he found Roy Harper—unconscious, battered, stripped of gear and boots, a mocking note tucked in his belt: "Next time, bring a real arsenal."
Curtis knelt, checking Roy's pulse.
Mr. Terrific (softly): "Hang in there, Roy. I've got you."
With T-Spheres providing cover, Curtis hauled Roy up, carrying him through the flooded streets to triage. Medics took over. Curtis relayed what little Roy could mumble: a stranger, cloak, red eyes, moved like a ghost—no name, no face, just a blur.
At triage, Roy pressed a blood-soaked rag to his side, jaw clenched. The antiseptic stung, but it was a dull throb compared to the fire of humiliation. He replayed the alley fight in his head: one minute Arsenal, a Titan; the next, face-down in the rain, stripped bare by a stranger who moved like a ghost and taunted with casual cruelty.
He tried to laugh it off when Curtis found him, muttering, "Guess I finally met a guy who hates my fashion sense." But the truth gnawed at him. He hated losing, hated it with a vengeance, but this? This was someone nameless, someone he couldn't even put a face to.
Curtis had hauled him up, concern mingling with quiet judgment. Roy forced a crooked smile. "At least he left my boxers. That's mercy, right?" But inside, he was burning. Not just from bruises, but from the weight of letting everyone down. Again.
He watched the city's chaos flicker across the monitors, fists curling into useless knots. He'd been through worse—addiction, loss, the agonizing climb back. He'd always found a way to stand up, to laugh in the face of the abyss. But this time, he felt small. Powerless. A ghost of a man beaten by a ghost. And he couldn't even slow him down.
He forced a smirk for the medics, but his eyes kept drifting to the door, to the relentless rain, to the city that needed him. Not done yet, he promised himself, voice a low growl. Not by a long shot.
End of Chapter 16