Malcolm didn't have those worries. He kept to himself most of the time; even if something odd happened, with his brains and skills the mad scientists wouldn't dare dissect him—well, probably not. Two of the blood drops were easy decisions; who to give the last drop to? Thinking of Tommy and Oliver made Thea hesitate. She'd have to take it one step at a time.
She removed her helmet and let out a long breath. Finally detached from that intense fusion, she felt relief. Keeping the unicorn suppressed inside her was no picnic—the creature was stubborn and single-minded, utterly inflexible. Being her usual self felt so much more comfortable.
Half an hour after the battle, the Waverider finally returned. The crew climbed down and gaped at the wasteland before them. Supposedly this had been a great city in 2166, right? Now it was uglier than a poor village.
A few of the citizens Thea had "deprogrammed" earlier straggled back. Maybe they'd try to rebuild on this rubble… maybe. The Waverider was a time ship, not a disaster-relief vessel; at best they could leave some emergency supplies to keep people alive for a few days and then wait for government aid.
Thea now understood why Superman was unpopular: the collateral damage. The battlefield had been turned into barren land. Craters everywhere. If it had just been Thea's light magic it might have been one thing, but Takhisis's acid-fire pits? People falling in and instantly vaporizing—that was a horrifying thought.
"Captain, where to next?" Thea asked as she climbed aboard. Rip Hunter had finally found his long-time nemesis, and his wife and child had survived—his original reason for assembling the Legends team was, at least for now, satisfied.
Rip answered with grim certainty, "I'm taking Vandal back to the Time Lords' prison. That's where a tyrant like him belongs."
Thea snorted quietly. You still expect to get your old job back, don't you? Too bad—that dream's over. The Time Lords had already struck a deal with Vandal: if you turn him in, he gets freed and you get locked up. So Rip and his crew decided to blow up the Time Lords' base and bury that time-management agency in the dustbin of history.
Thea wasn't going to stop them. In fact, she wanted in. Imagine the thrill—blowing up the Time Lords' headquarters. If that gang survived, any time she did something off their script they'd come out to "fix" the timeline. Erasing their base forever would be a huge win.
Whether Vandal would run—she didn't care. What harm could an eighty-year-old body do? Let him live another decade if he had the nerve.
"Captain! Ray's condition has worsened—please come look. Oh—Miss Thea, you should come too." Kendra rushed up as they boarded, dragging Rip inside, then hesitated when Thea turned back and grabbed her.
Thea's gaze on Kendra was cold enough to be intimidating. Kendra froze halfway, hand hanging in the air, stunned. Thea wasn't throwing a tantrum; she was just puzzled. Your god is dead and you're still hopping around? A proper priestess would have been affected. This made no theological sense.
Look at the hawks—falling out of the sky like dumplings. In this 2166 world, after today, hawks would probably become protected species. They'd basically suicided en masse.
"Do you know who we were fighting just now?" Thea asked seriously.
Kendra, a straightforward, honest woman, shook her head without hesitation.
Thea slapped her forehead. Horus? No wonder the god lost an eye—what a lousy choice in priests. One with ambition, one with no guts. The timid one didn't hear the summons—fine, understandable. If your faith is that weak, after a couple thousand reincarnations there's nothing left.
"Can you still unfurl your wings?" Thea asked at last.
It was a blunt question—normally asking about abilities that way is taboo—but neither of them were ordinary. Kendra tested herself and sheepishly said, "They're hit-or-miss. I can't get them to work now."
Thea studied her and spoke slowly, carefully: "Horus has fallen. I don't know who you are or what you expected, but this means your four-thousand-year feud with Vandal is over. Your powers are gone. You can try living a normal life."
"Wait—does that mean Vandal's immortality is gone too?" Rip, who'd been listening, asked. He wasn't particularly invested in Kendra's fate, but Vandal was his longtime enemy.
"Yes," Thea said. "I'm not sure how that cycle of reincarnation first formed, but one of its key sources—divine power—has dissipated. Now death is final for them. No doubt about it."
Rip tried to laugh, but held himself back out of courtesy to Kendra. She'd just lost her powers and immortality; laughing would be cruel.
Kendra looked downcast. She didn't think Thea was lying—she was just stunned by how capricious fate could be. Six months ago she'd been washing dishes at a café; then she learned she could be a superhero, that she could defeat a millennia-old foe. Now it was all over and she was told to go back to her old life. The sudden rise and fall of it all was a lot to take in.
But she was naturally timid and had never sought glory. Losing her powers didn't terrify her; it was almost a relief. In Thea's estimation, being able to let go was a fine trait. If the old Hawks had heard that Horus was dead, they'd be appalled—might even spit blood. But better that way than staying trapped in that endless cycle.