The dockyard was slick with rain, the metal crates glistening under scattered floodlights. Perfect for a controlled fight—or so I thought. Six figures moved in formation near the edge of the shipping yard. My first assessment: normal humans. Skilled, coordinated, but I should be able to win.
I dropped from a crane beam, CE reinforcement humming in my muscles. Limitless stretched faintly around me, ready but reserved. Blue was primed at my fingertips. The first attacks came fast—bats, knives, punches—but nothing I hadn't handled before.
Then the sixth one moved differently. Not faster—calculated, deliberate, and every strike carried a weight that shifted space around it. The first hit he landed nearly threw me off my feet.
Definitely Not human.
He stepped fully into view. Broad shoulders, muscle rippling under wet clothing, and a faint shimmer of energy radiating off him. Super-strength, no doubt. Durability beyond normal limits. I braced instinctively, analyzing every twitch of muscle, every movement pattern. CE reinforcement surged, Blue ready, Limitless humming in reserve.
Again another blow landed. I staggered, absorbing the shock through a controlled Limitless burst. Mental note: time-limited. I couldn't keep this barrier up too long. Each strike he threw demanded split-second decisions—when to block, when to push, when to counter.
He charged, swinging with enough force to dent steel crates. I sidestepped, twisting, letting CE reinforcement carry the momentum into a counterpunch. My Blue infused strike lit up briefly, hitting his shoulder. He grunted, a small crack of surprise, but pressed on.
Observation, calculation, adaptation. That became the rhythm. His strikes were predictable in the pattern but not in the timing. I baited him with feints, forcing overcommits, then countered. Every push, every precise Blue blast, every controlled Limitless barrier taught me something new: how far my body could go, how my powers could synchronize under pressure, and how to read not just motion, but intent.
Minutes blurred. Rain stung my eyes. Steel underfoot became slick hazards. One punch sent me sprawling, but I rolled, letting CE reinforcement cushion and redirect the impact. I pushed Limitless just enough to absorb a devastating overhead swing, then immediately used Blue to shove him back and regain control.
The tide slowly turned. He overextended once, leaving a tiny opening. I pressed, CE boosted strength in every step, Blue pulling on the space between us, Limitless flaring briefly to absorb a particularly vicious swing. Step by step, hit by hit, I forced him backward, his durability keeping him in the fight but not his stamina. Each move taught me timing, patience, the balance of offense and defense.
Finally, one perfectly timed Blue-assisted uppercut, amplified by CE strength and just enough Limitless for impact absorption, connected squarely under his chin. He staggered, then collapsed, unconscious but intact. I stayed back, breathing hard, muscles trembling. I had won—but the fight had pushed me harder than anything before. Blue mastery felt sharper, CE reinforcement more natural, Limitless timing ingrained deeper in muscle memory. Growth had been earned in real combat.
Then movement above the crates caught my attention. Bow drawn, eyes scanning, relaxed but alert.
"Hello there," said a familiar, casual voice.
I froze. Only now did I realize someone had been watching—someone who understood threats and tactics.
Green Arrow stepped down, bow lowered slightly, smirk faint. "Looks like you've gotten busy."
I stared, still catching my breath. CE still humming and Limitless ready if needed. For the first time, I felt the weight of being observed by a hero—and that maybe, the real challenge had only just begun.