Thea muttered to herself as she wiped the moisture from her fingers.
Even without having fought Zeus directly, she could roughly estimate: she was now half a tier above him. Something she couldn't accomplish, Zeus almost certainly couldn't either. Lady Styx's stone constructs were the product of top-tier talent combined with top-tier abilities—an outlier even among gods.
Zeus, that lecherous coward, had done the deed but refused to own it. To protect his glorious reputation, he'd fabricated a story about Hippolyta being so devout she'd prayed to the heavens for a child—a complete fabrication.
Diana's current strength was proof enough. She was closing in on Zeus's level. Whose creation ever caught up to its creator? Every one of her achievements screamed living person, not something made of clay. If clay like that actually existed, Thea would demand ten thousand jin of the stuff from Zeus without a second thought.
Diana didn't particularly care whether she was made of clay or not. She'd lived long enough that the question had lost its power. As a child, maybe it had kept her up at night. Not anymore.
Watching her lover's still-damp hands, even a veteran like Diana felt heat creep into her cheeks. She hurried to change the subject. "That dark version of you—can you handle her now?"
"Hard to say. If it's just her original self, she's definitely no match for me. But if that powerful entity is controlling her body, then I'd lose." Thea settled back into bed, wrapping an arm around the Valkyrie, her tone uncertain.
Dark Thea had been a priority target since the beginning. The moment the Underworld was running smoothly, she'd dispatched Kanto to scour the multiverse. The First Assassin had contacts across countless parallel worlds and an army of Shadow Assassins at his disposal—but so far, no direct leads.
Plenty of rumors, though. Half-truths, hearsay, scraps. Piecing them together, Thea had arrived at a tentative conclusion: the odds that entity was actually her were low. The dominant presence controlling that body was most likely Eclipso—God's former Spirit of Vengeance.
The gap between them had narrowed, but Thea still estimated she couldn't beat the Spectre. And if she couldn't beat the Spectre, she couldn't beat his predecessor either.
The one piece of good news: she wouldn't be instantly obliterated. It would take at least half a day—maybe a full day—before either side could claim victory.
The two goddesses held each other and drifted back to sleep, not stirring until nearly noon.
With nothing pressing on the agenda, they both felt lazy. A mage hand flicked on the television, and they settled in to kill time.
Thea channel-surfed absently, her mind still turning over the Two-Dimensional World problem, until the TV mentioned Diana's name and her attention snapped back to the bedroom.
A red-haired woman with a pretty face sat in a wheelchair, a young interviewer holding a microphone beside her. It was clearly some kind of talk show.
The redhead seemed to be recalling something, her voice drifting slightly.
"Diana Prince was like an angel. I was at the bank withdrawing money when a metahuman villain went on a rampage—completely out of control. I was buried under rubble, a stone pillar about to crush me. While I was waiting to die, she appeared, radiating this... holy light, and caught the pillar. Saved my life."
The young woman paused, as though reliving the moment.
"You know her?" Thea asked Diana.
"I do. It was years ago. Her name is... Vanessa Kapatelis. A very strong girl." Diana was a superhero through and through—unlike Thea, who'd rather nap at home than go out saving people, Diana was always out there. "I think she liked ballet. We didn't know each other that well."
Diana had saved more people than she could count—possibly more than Superman. She searched her memory and answered with some uncertainty.
But on-screen, the woman clutched her chest, her voice rising with near-fanatical intensity. "Diana is my best friend. When I was hurt, she encouraged me, supported me. She told me Greek myths. As a Greek-American, I was ashamed of how little I knew about the Greek gods. I taught her card games. I taught her the name of every step in ballet..."
Thea shot Diana a suspicious look. Based on what this woman is saying, "didn't know each other well" is a stretch.
The young woman seemed to steel herself. She looked directly into the camera and said with unshakable conviction: "She's my best friend. I love her! I can't live a single day without her!"
"Urk—" Thea barely choked back a surge of blood rising in her throat. She fixed Diana with an amused stare while silently making a mental note: the moment I get back, I'm fast-tracking the Eighteen Levels of Hell. Diana's charm is too dangerous—men and women alike. A few public examples need to be made, or the admirers will never stop.
"It's nothing! I'm really not close with her!" The Valkyrie waved both hands frantically.
Thea believed that much, at least. But Diana's magnetic pull was an undeniable fact.
Even with Thea's sky-high status, people still dared to publicly declare their love for Diana. In the original timeline, the pressure on Steve Trevor must've been astronomical.
The little episode killed any remaining appetite for television. Both goddesses decided to head out for a stroll—and while they were at it, check in on Batman. He had his share of issues, sure, but he was still an ally.
They fixed their hair, changed into street clothes, hit a mall first—bought a mountain of shoes, bags, and outfits—shipped the haul back to Diana's villa, and drove to Gotham.
Walking into the Batcave, they were greeted by a series of heavy thuds. Today's Batman had ditched the full suit—bare-chested, no cowl, swinging a sledgehammer at a tire.
Oliver had done similar workouts. Thea had never been sure whether it counted as training or stress relief, though the method did seem to be a League of Assassins tradition.
She clapped her hands. "Not bad. Looking good—recovery's coming along."
Damian waved at her from nearby, the boy hunched over a thick black-bound tome.
It was Circe's grimoire on transmutation magic. Both of them—one eager to teach, one eager to learn—had arranged this on their own. Thea hadn't objected.
Not because her magic was inferior to Circe's, but because their specialties diverged. Thea's spellwork was like her divine domain: souls, death. Lethality through the roof—a single spell could kill thousands.
That clashed directly with Batman's no-kill principle, and even Damian, who wasn't opposed to killing, preferred not to stray too far from his father's code.
Transmutation, on the other hand, was perfect for a superhero. Point at a target, turn them into a sheep. Or a pig. Lock them up, then reverse the spell later. More hassle, sure, but Batman approved.
Thea answered a few of Damian's questions off the cuff. She hadn't delved deeply into transmutation herself, but her sheer mastery meant a moment's thought was enough to grasp most of it.
"Good timing—both of you. I need to discuss something." Batman tossed the sledgehammer aside, wiped the sweat off, and motioned for them to follow him deeper into the cave.
Damian tagged along, curious.