Thea shot Vandal a contemptuous glance—then turned and streaked back toward the blast site in a golden blur.
Behind her, Vandal Savage burst into wild, triumphant laughter. He slammed his hand onto a concealed switch; a section of wall split open, revealing a narrow hidden passage. Seizing the woman beside him, he dragged her down the corridor at a run.
Heat Wave and Rip were easy to find—but Sara? Not so much. The scene was absolute chaos, dust and smoke and bodies everywhere. It took Thea a full three minutes of searching before she spotted the petite blonde half-buried under a collapsed human pile. She yanked Sara out, checked her pulse—still breathing.
After hauling the three unconscious Legends to a relatively safe spot, Thea stood still, surveying the devastation. Something about all this gnawed at her.
This level of ruthlessness… it didn't fit. The man had willingly blown up his own loyal followers without hesitation. He had to have planned for interference long in advance; otherwise, who plants that much explosive under their own troops?
Even for a lunatic, that was extreme.
"After him!" Rip barked, fired up with a zeal that almost looked heroic. He ordered Rory to carry the unconscious Sara back to the Waverider for treatment and charged after Thea to pursue Vandal.
Thea took one look at the tiny pistol in his hand and nearly sighed out loud.
So this was it—he'd seen how powerful she was and decided to latch onto her like an XP leech. His enthusiasm was almost too sincere.
Still, fine. She didn't fear anyone here. The faster they wrapped this up, the sooner she could go home.
They followed the trail to where Vandal had vanished. Thea's magical senses found the secret trigger quickly enough—but when the hidden door opened, what lay beyond stopped them both cold.
A massive metal gate, seamless and smooth as mirror glass.
"I don't see a lock anywhere," Thea said after a quick scan. "No mechanism, no latch. It's one-piece construction—single-use. Once it closes, it never opens again."
She probed it with her magic, searching for any kind of responsive field—nothing. No password input, no retinal scanner, no pressure plate. It was literally a wall of alloy, designed to stay shut forever.
What kind of maniac spends centuries perfecting a one-time door? Did this guy spend all four thousand years obsessing over escape routes? Blowing up his men and sealing himself in with a disposable bunker? What even goes on in this man's brain?
Rip ran his hand along the surface, frowning. "It's a boron nitride composite—reinforced with osmium. Entirely cast in one piece."
He turned to her. "Can you break it? This is the strongest metal blend of the 22nd century."
You're asking me? Thea wanted to say. Who else would you ask?
Suppressing a groan, she circled the site twice, mapping the layout through magical resonance. Her findings weren't encouraging.
The underground structure was colossal. The outer shell was solid rock; the inner layer, some advanced alloy she couldn't even name; and at the core—the same absurd metal as the door.
It was basically a giant turtle shell.
When she relayed her scan to Rip, she added flatly, "Any chance your ship's got something that can punch through this?"
Rip immediately radioed the Waverider.
Gideon's answer came back less than reassuring:
"In theory, yes. In practice, we are currently being pursued by a two-hundred-meter-tall, emerald-green combat robot. So, you're on your own for now."
The dashing old captain spread his hands helplessly. "I tried. Your move, heroine."
Thea exhaled through her nose.
This wasn't the glorious battle she'd wanted—it was demolition work. "All right," she muttered inwardly, "let's see what we've got."
She reached out mentally.
Hey. You awake?
"Hmm?" came the sleepy voice of Arthus in her mind.
"Get up. We've got a bunker to break into. Do we have any weapons besides this armor?"
"I'm a unicorn, not a lion," the spirit replied indignantly. "A creature of peace! My horn is my only weapon—and you can't use it yet. Our fusion rate's too low."
Right. That.
They'd talked about it before. "Deeper fusion" meant total synchronization—her fully adopting the unicorn's pure worldview.
Thea had rejected it outright. She wasn't about to turn into a sparkly, sunshine-and-rainbows paragon of righteousness. She liked herself just fine.
So—no weapons.
Fine. Time to improvise.
Punching it barehanded would work… eventually. But she wasn't Superman. It'd be messy and dumb.
She needed something smarter.
Few beings fought using light as a weapon, but Thea's memory sparked with an idea—from a very different universe.
The Navy Admiral Kizaru… his Heavenly Cloud Sword.
Left hand braced against her right wrist, she began gathering photons, condensing them into her palm.
The air shimmered. A glowing orb of raw energy pulsed in her grip, the brilliance intensifying as she compressed it further. Transparent light turned gold, then gold to a molten white, arcs of electricity dancing along its surface.
That's enough, she judged. Push it further and she'd blow her own arm off.
She gently stroked the sphere, then pulled her hands apart—stretching it into a blade.
In half a minute, a blinding longsword of condensed sunlight hung in her grasp.
Thea gave it a few test swings. Too light, but good enough.
"Captain," she said, glancing over her shoulder, "stand back."
Then she took off.
She flew nearly two kilometers out, pivoted midair, and leveled the blade before her.
Energy surged.
She streaked forward like a meteor. The sonic boom came first—the explosion of air pressure following in her wake. Then came impact.
The blade struck the metal door dead center.
The earth itself shuddered.
Light split the darkness, and the roar of impact rolled across the landscape.
When the dust settled, the door still stood—but it now bore a crater two meters wide and half a meter deep.
The sword had shattered on impact, disintegrating into golden fragments.
Thea stood amid the haze, rubbing her head, grimacing.
Her conclusion: This door is ridiculous.
Its thickness might actually match its height and width. A perfect three-meter cube of "nope."
"Fine," she muttered. "Smashing it is stupid. I'll just dig through."
Summoning another blade of light, she started carving into the damaged spot, chipping deeper, meter by meter.
⸻
She didn't know it, but inside that supposedly impenetrable fortress, Vandal Savage was close to despair.
The underground vault had been a masterpiece of engineering—his most brilliant architects had spent decades designing it, mobilizing half a city's workforce and wealth to build it. The cost was beyond measure.
And yet, that one strike had nearly torn it apart.
The entire chamber trembled, dust raining from the ceiling.
His confidence—his pride—collapsed with the shaking earth.
The sensors confirmed his worst fear: the gate's integrity was already down to forty-five percent. The enemy was moments away from breaking through.
He'd faced powerful foes before—gods, monsters, immortals. But those heroes were supposed to be long dead.
So who was this girl?
Where in all of time and space had she come from?