CHAPTER - 11

He peeked down. The staccato was soft and smooth. Whoever was approaching was taking extra care to be conspicuous, presumably moving on tip toes. Then suddenly Carrie materialized out of the smoke. She was indeed moving on tip toes, her shoulders hunched. Her head swerved left and right, checking to see if he wasn't hiding behind the racks. Her unfettered burgundy hair swept left and right like a piece of cloth caught in a sudden gust of wind. She moved deeper into the darkness between the racks trying to find him.

This was his chance. She was isolated from the herd. She was on her lonesome. If he landed behind her and hit her then he could take her by surprise and render her unconscious with three or four hits. After all she was the one who had decommissioned his left arm. It was incumbent on his part to take her out first.

So swiftly making up his mind he turned to his right and jumped down from the edge of the rack. He landed on his toes softly. His right hand shot out and took hold of the shelf to his right for support. It was a perfect landing. It had not alerted Carrie. He had landed about six feet behind Carrie. She had moved beyond the racks and reached the stairwell that led to the upper levels of the warehouse. Her back was turned towards him. He crouched and moved towards her, carefully, so as not to alert her by the crump of his boots.

When he was three feet away from her, he lifted himself to his full height and pounced on her. Like a cheetah. He bolted through the air and tackled her from behind. Impetuously, he brought his right hand around and clamped it on her mouth to prevent her from screaming out and alerting the others. They landed on the ground with a muffled thud. She was sandwiched between him and the ground. A soft 'umph' escaped his lips as he felt his shoulder collide with the ground, grazing further against the wound. The throbbing returned with a bang and he was almost paralyzed by the pain. But he fought it. Through gritted teeth he willed the pain to go away. Pushing it to the back of his mind, he slaved through it. In a flash, he flipped her around and straddled her. He kept his hand firmly clamped on her mouth, squeezing her cheeks hard to keep her from biting his fingers off.

Her eyes were wide with terror and he could see raw fear swirling in the depths of her eyeball. Yes, that was what he wanted to incur in his enemies. Fear. He deftly switched his hands, freeing his right hand from her mouth and clamping it shut with his left. He used his injured arm because he had decided that if he wanted to make it out of here alive he needed to use both his arms, even if one was critically injured.

Both her hands were free and before she could do anything, Oliver pulled his right hand back as far as he could and slammed the heel into her left shoulder, hard and fast. With a sickening crunch her arm dislocated from her shoulder. Oliver felt a sick sense of satisfaction wash over him. Good, he thought, an eye for an eye. She wouldn't be able to shoot an arrow for a very long time. Her face contorted and her eyes convulsed with pain and agony. He could feel her muffled scream against his hand. She was writhing and thrashing underneath him.

Now it was time to put her out of her misery. Keeping one hand pressed on her mouth, he took hold of her head by her wild unruly hair and slammed it repeatedly on the ground. Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. And then he struck her across the jaw with her elbow, thus rendering her unconscious. She stilled under him, no longer thrashing and squirming.

He swept the sweat off his brow and heaved a sigh a relief. One down. Three more to go. The pain in his shoulder had subsided and dimmed into the background. He brought his finger to her pulse and found it beating steadily. So he lifted himself gingerly off the ground, dragged her body and dumped it under the stairwell. He would be able to corner anyone who came looking for her.

He again climbed up the rack and waited for someone to come looking for her. And in the meantime he tried to catch his breathe. He was counting on Harkness to come looking. Harkness he could handle. Slade and Lawton were on another level altogether. He would have to deal with them later.

On the ground the smoke was slowly starting to recede as it became thinner and vanished into wisps.

Come on, come on, he implored, Harkness come here.

The smoke would clear in about three to four minutes, then he would have a hard time salvaging this plan of his. If in the next thirty seconds no one came this way then he would have to abandon this stealthy approach and embrace the direct one. And then -

"Hey….where did the girl go?" came Slade's husky voice from amidst the smoke.

"Dunno. Maybe she got lost." replied Harkness.

"Do you think he escaped?" asked Lawton.

"Not likely.", replied Slade with certainty. "He could never walk away from a direct challenge. One of his fatal flaws.."

Oliver gritted his teeth on hearing this. He could never walk away from any kind of challenge. He was just obstinate that way and it had on many occasions, if not always, proven to be fatal for him. Slade just knew him too well.

"Lawton….go and check what happened to the girl. And if you find him do not kill him….drag him out here. He is mine." growled Slade.

"And Harkness….check in between those racks. Drag him out if you find him….I am gonna look over there by those desks." said Slade.

The hall quietened again and was immediately adorned by the loud thumps of boots coming his way. Lawton approached first, cautioning restrained as the machine guns straddling his wrists were pointed at the darkness in front of him. His head skittered left and right as he made his way past the racks and into the area where he hid Carrie. Well it would at least take him four to five minutes to find her body in the dark.

Oliver shifted his attention towards Harkness, who hadn't moved an inch from the edge of the point from where the racks began. He was just standing there twiddling with the lapels of his jackets and was peering in between the racks. His posture seemed skittish to him but he couldn't say for sure because his face was hidden in the darkness. Then he made an about turn and moved further into the open space where the bulk of the smoke had been.

Now Oliver had to make a decision. He was in a conundrum. There were three guys left. One one corner of the hall, beyond the racks was Lawton who was searching for Carrie. It would be more suitable for him to deal with Lawton first then move to the others. But Oliver was wary of the machine guns on his wrist. They were very useful weapons. They could be used both for long range and short range attacks. He had to leave Lawton for later.

On the opposite corner of the hall, masked in the now vanishing smoke, was Slade. Of the three of them, Slade was the most skillful when it came to close combat. Oliver had watched him engage six people at once and win. He had to trudge carefully on that particular egg shell.

And then in the middle was Harkness, whose only skill was flinging boomerangs with the same accuracy as his. He wasn't as skilled as the other two in hand to hand combat. Out of the three, Harkness was the most viable target for him in the current situation.

Harkness's back was turned towards him. He could initiate another sneak attack on him, like he had on Carrie. Slade was on the corner of the hall, hidden in the smoke and Lawton was on the opposite side beyond the racks. And the smoke was about to clear in about two minutes. So he had about forty second to take out Harkness and return back up here without being seen.

So Oliver jumped down as quietly as possible and moved towards him from behind, as stealthily as possible. But as soon as he was three feet behind him, Harkness turned around rapidly and came face to face with him.

Shit! He must have heard me, cursed Oliver.

But before Harkness could do something Oliver did the first thing that jumped to his mind. He dropped to the ground immediately and swept his feet from under him. He had been surprised by Oliver's sudden appearance behind him. It was evident by the widening of his eyes and his jumping brows. And Oliver had already set the wheel in motion before he could attack him. So with a yelp he went down on the ground with his arms and legs flailing awkwardly in the air.

He immediately tried to scamper back to his feet but Oliver slammed his foot down on his knee, hard. He yelled in pain again and clutched his knee desperately. He couldn't move. Oliver had struck him hard in a spot just above his knee which would cause him considerable amount of pain if he tried to move that leg. Harkness's eyes narrowed in loathe and detest.

Then he did something that Oliver hadn't accounted for. He yelled out for help.

"Hey-" his voice rang clear across the space like a church bell.

But Oliver didn't give him a chance. Before he could finish his cry for help Oliver pounced on him. He landed with his knees on his stomach. Harkness doubled over in pain, his eyes bulged out like that of a frog's. Then Oliver punched him hard on his throat. He coughed and spluttered in pain. He tried to shout again, but couldn't. Oliver had just fractured his larynx. He wouldn't be able to speak for sometime. It was a nifty little trick he had learned a long time ago and it had come in handy. Now Harkness could only croak.

Oliver clenched his fist and aimed another punch, this time at his jaw. But Harkness moved his head toward his right at the last moment and his knuckles hit the concrete floor. He gritted his teeth at the pain which sparked in his hand. Then before he could do anything about it, Harkness produced a metallic boomerang from within his coat. It was a handsome thing, about twelve inch long from tip to tip. It shone brilliantly under the dull light. Another thing he noticed was that the tip of the wings were sharp like that of a blade.

Harkness was pinned to the ground. He couldn't walk nor could he speak. His end was inevitable. And he would do anything to delay the inevitable. So before Oliver could bring up his guard, Harkness slashed at his upper body hard with the boomerang. The sharp tip cut through his costume and plunged into his chest. It sliced open his body from the chest, across the gut, in a thin line which ended at his right hip. The cut wasn't deep but it was long. Oliver gasped in pain and shock as he felt the pain disperse across his body. His chest was on fire. His mind went blank with shock. The boomerang had also cut off the straps of his quiver from his chest, which slumped on the ground with a clank and the arrows spilled out.

He fell back on the ground breathing heavily. He brought his hand up to inspect the damage. There was a thin slit on his costume running from his collarbone to his right hip. And there was blood percolating from the gash into his costume and dripping on the floor.

And suddenly Oliver went into an irate state. He didn't know where the anger came from, but the shock that his mind was in and the contempt he felt at himself for not being able to block the attack, convoluted and warped into a red hot mass of anger which left him seething. The monster inside him was back and it was angry. It wanted blood.

The anger took ahold of him. Through narrowed eyes he looked at Harkness. He was still on the ground, barely able to speak or move. He was still brandishing his boomerang like a flag, ready to lash at him should he come anywhere near him again.

Harkness lifted his head and Oliver got a good glimpse at his face. It wasn't contorted with pain any more. There was a thin smirk on his face and a gleam of pleasure in his eyes, for having stabbed him. And that was it for Oliver. That was the limit. Seeing that sadistic pleasure swirling in his eyes turned off all rationality in Oliver. His mind was stressed to the of breaking down and now the threshold had been crossed. He saw red. Now Oliver wanted to hurt him really, really bad. And he didn't care if he killed him.

So without further thought, Oliver leapt onto Harkness again, like a hungry, savage dog. He punched Harkness hard in his gut, feeling his taut muscles give way. And then Harkness again slashed at him with the boomerang. But this time Oliver was ready. He swerved out of the way as the boomerang slashed past him. Using both his hands he caught hold of his wrist and wrapped both his leg around the arm and pinned it to the floor. He had got him in a submission hold. His leg was jammed in his shoulder. If he twisted his arm around he could break it. And he wanted to do it. So very badly.

He looked at Harkness for the last time. He was struggling against him. He couldn't move. If he pushed or pulled against the force which Oliver was applying then he would unconsciously break his own arm. His face was contorted into a snarl. He was breathing heavily now. His eyes and jaw were trembling with the pain coursing through his shoulder. Oliver could see tears welling up in his eyes. The agony must be immense. And now Oliver felt a sense of barbarous pleasure. A pleasure at holding so much power over a man. It was addictive.

Harkness was wordlessly begging him not to do it. But it was only egging him more. And then contorting his face he mercilessly twisted his hand and snapped the bone with a crunch.

Harkness went crazy with the pain. If he would have had his voice he would have released an inhuman blood curdling scream. He was writhing and thrashing about in agony. The pain was killing him but Oliver didn't bother to do anything about it. Without even a sliver of remorse at his abhorrent act, he got up to his feet. He looked at the man on the ground. He was still twisting and wriggling with agony, and his arm was lying at an impossible angle beside him, the boomerang a couple of inches away from his outstretched fingers.

His work here was done. He had to get up back to his vantage spot.

He was about to move towards the rack when he heard a commotion and loud thumping behind him. As soon as he turned around to look what it was ,he was swept off his feet. The wind was knocked out of him, leaving him gasping for air. He was being carried back at a blistering pace. It took his mind some time to determine what was happening to him.

It was Slade. He had just pounced on Oliver. He must have heard their scuffle. He was bent down like a bull and his arm was around Oliver's waist. He was carrying him partially on his shoulder. Oliver was in Slade's hold for about four seconds before he was slammed hard against a wall. His head snapped back, hit the wall and started ringing. The remaining breathe shoved out of his body with a grunt on collision. He was gasping hard for air. A tumultuous wave of pain rocked his back as it spread from his injured shoulder down to the small bone on his lower back. He doubled over and tried hard to catch his breathe.

But Slade had other plans. He didn't let him catch a break. He lunged at him again and aimed a right hook across his jaw. Oliver's head snapped to the right. He coughed, spluttered and spit out blood. His hands immediately and instinctively went up to protect his face. And this time Slade didn't go for the face, but rather his exposed gut.

Slade punched him hard and fast. In his gut and ribs. Jab after jab. Left and right. There was no stopping him. He was like a well oiled machine. He put his whole body behind every punch he landed on his already battered body. And when Oliver would bring his hands down to block the punches, Slade would go for his face. Left hook and right hook across his jaws. It sent his head reeling and disoriented his vision. And the pain spreading across his face was so colossal that he couldn't feel the punches which landed on any other parts of his body.

All in all, Oliver was pinned against the wall like a rat being cornered by a cat. There was nothing he could do to get out of there. Exhaustion was setting in. There was only so much his worn out body could take. He closed his eyes and brought his hands up and bent down to soften the landing blows.

And when Slade realized that his blows weren't having the effect that he intended, he grabbed him by his tattered costume. Then taking a wide stride he planted his left foot on the ground, with a labored grunt lifted Oliver over his shoulder and tossed his like a rag doll as far as he could. Oliver weighed about one eighty pounds, so Slade couldn't toss him much far. Only about eight feet, which was an impressive feat in itself.

Oliver slammed hard on the concrete and skidded onwards for a couple of seconds before stopping. Pain and pain. Every where. There was fire all over his body. Like someone had dropped him on a pit of hot lava. Everything was numb. His body wasn't responding to him anymore. Slowly but painfully he pushed himself up on his hands and knees and spit out some blood.

"It's over kid. Your time is up. You can't hide like a coward anymore. You have failed everyone." said Slade and he bolted towards him and kneed him hard on his face.

And this broke Oliver's nose.

Oliver cried out wordlessly and tumbled back. There wasn't any energy left in him. His head was reeling and mind was blank. He closed his eyes as he tried to find refuge from the sudden rise and fall of the pricking pangs. His eyes welled up in tear as he felt few drops trickle down the side of his face. He couldn't do it any more. It was too much. He couldn't fight.

"You feel that don't you….the pain. Yes…I can see it in your face. Do you know how happy it makes me to see you like this? Suffering. This is your penance. This is retribution. You want it to end…Don't fight it. Just embrace it."

Then amidst all this crisis, Oliver had an epiphany. A coherent and lucid thought rang like a crisp bell across his pain muddled mind. He was gonna die. Right here. Right now. He was going to die in this musty old run of the mill warehouse, like a cockroach. All the trials, all the troubles and all the pain he had gone through had been for nothing. All the years of his life that he had dedicated to do the right thing had been for nothing. Every thing had been a waste.

His body had already accepted defeat but his mind wasn't ready to. Not yet at least. He was Oliver Queen for god's sake. He had survived the island and countless number of monsters and maniacs there and returned home. He had fought hard and saved his city not once but twice. He had defeated Malcolm Merlyn. He had defeated Slade twice. He had survived Ra's Al Ghul's sword and became stronger for it. He had jumped from one crucible to another like a bee jumps flowers, and come out of the other end victorious.

He wasn't a coward. He was a hero. He wasn't just going to give up and accept his defeat. He was going to fight back till there wasn't any breathe left in his breast. He wasn't going down easy. And even if he was going to die he was going to make sure that he took as many with him as possible, starting with Slade.

Letting this thought embolden his spirit, he pushed the pain to the back of his mind. Slowly and painstakingly, he pushed himself off the floor. First on his hands and knees and then on his feet. He was breathing heavily with his mouth. Breathing through the nose was painful. He wobbled and staggered at first but then steadied himself. Then he met Slade's eyes.

And Slade found this amusing.

"Ah…I was wondering which would break first….your spirit or your body."

Oliver steeled himself. He spread his legs and grounded his feet. Bend down and fists up. He held a flechette in his left hand. He gestured wordlessly at Slade to come at him with everything he had.

Slade smirked at this but nonetheless hurtled towards him.

He led with a right hook across his jaw, which Oliver dodged easily. He moved his head to the left as he watched his arm dart passed his face. Swiftly and with conviction, Oliver caught hold of his wrist and stabbed at his arm with the flechette twice. Slade yelped in pain and jumped back.

He growled and glared at Oliver. And lunged at him again. This time he dived forward intending to elbow him on his temple, but Oliver saw it coming and ducked to evade it. Then he punched him hard in his gut twice. Left and right. Slade stumbled back, clutching his gut. He barred his teeth at him and then unleashed a whole barrage of assaults. One punch here, one kick there. Left, right, up, down. Oliver dodged, ducked and weaved around the assaults. One caught him on his bad shoulder and it sparked the pain again, but he shook it off and slaved forward.

Slade's right leg was coming his way with blinding pace. He brought his left hand up at the right time and blocked it. And before Slade could put down his foot, he plunged the flechette twice into his leg, just above his knee. Slade gasped and stumbled back.

Suddenly Oliver felt a sense of warmth envelop him. His confidence was returning back to him with a vengeance. He could do it. He could beat Slade and escape from here. Slade's conviction was slipping. He could see his confidence waning. This in return compounded his confidence.

And now Oliver did not wait for Slade to come to him. With renewed strength, belief and fervor, he leapt at Slade. Taking skipping strides like that of a boxer, he first feigned to the right, inciting Slade to bring up his defense. And then at the last moment changed direction and jabbed hard at his right abdomen. Then without breaking the flow, he swing his foot hard at Slade leg, buckling it under him. Adjusting his footsteps gracefully, he finished the move with an uppercut aimed at his jaw.

Perfect.

By the time he was finished Slade was sprawled on the ground, flat on his back.

But he didn't remain there for long. He sprung up to his feet and came at Oliver again.

Oliver took a step back and strengthened his core. Slade swung his feet at him, in an upward arc. Oliver held both his palm open and blocked the kick. Then Slade threw a punch at his jaw which he parried away with a flick of his hand. Taking a wide stride and jumping to gain potential energy, he struck Slade square across the jaw, which sent him reeling back.

Slade coughed, spluttered and spit out blood. Moots of his spit clung to his hirsute chin. And he cracked a smile at him.

"Oh that was good kid. Real good. I have taught you well…..But if you think even for a second, that you can defeat me….then you are sorely mistaken. I will kill you. I will snuff out your life with my bare hands when I wring your THROAT."

Then he lunged at Oliver's throat.

This was too easy for him. Slade was loosing it. His emotions were clouding his judgement, and that would eventually be his downfall. He felt a strange sense of elation leap into his heart.

And with a soft smirk of his own he leapt into action.

Oliver swerved out of the way of the lunging Slade. He caught hold of Slade's right hand and elbowed him hard on his arm. That was going to leave a nasty bruise. Then he punched him hard in his ribs under the arm pit. Slade wobbled back. And that was when Oliver saw a rare opening in his defense. So like a lion aiming for the jugular, he leapt at Slade and wrapped his right arm around his throat and locked it up with his left hand.

Finally, he had Slade in a submission hold. A slight pressure and he could snap Slade neck. And Slade couldn't do anything about it. He could feel Slade twisting, wriggling and squirming against him. As a result he tightened his grip around his neck. Slade punched and clawed incessantly against his arm and face. Oliver leaned his head back to avoid his assaults.

"Yield, yield." Oliver commanded through gritted teeth. His voice came out hoarse and was laced with exhaustion.

"Never…." croaked Slade. Oliver could feel his throat convulsion and Adam's apple bobbing against his arm.

He tightened his hold further, as the strain spiked in his shoulder.

"…but I am warning you. If you don't kill me now….I will come after you again. I will not rest until I have your head." warned Slade.

Oliver head got hotter at this. Slade couldn't stop threatening even moments before his supposed death. Maybe he should just kill him. It seemed so easy. All he would have to do was twist his arm and his neck would snap.

Slade wouldn't remain quiet. He writhed and thrashed around, jabbing him at his side with his elbow. This only strengthened his resolve and his grip got tighter. Maybe he should just snap it.

Suddenly, three things happened over a span of two seconds. Oliver heard three loud and clear cracks behind him. Then his back split open and he collapsed on the ground like a sack of potato.

Someone had just shot him.

It was Lawton. He stood tall and proud, his mannerisms as cool as a cucumber. His left arm was raised and pointed at where Oliver was standing a couple of seconds ago. Smoke was billowing from the muzzle of the gun straddling his wrist.

"That was easy.", he intoned at Slade. "What was taking you so long?"

Oliver had forgotten all about Lawton. Now he was sprawled on the ground with two bullets lodged on his back and the other had grazed past his neck. He screamed out loud in agony. His voice broke with the pain and it sounded alien to him. His back was on fire. Like someone had just plunged a red hot rod into his back. He squirmed and writhed against the pain, willing for it to stop. His back was numb with the torrential wave of pain lashing through it. He couldn't fight it anymore. Tears welled up in his eyes and trickled down his face. He wanted the pain to stop. Stop. STOP.

Slade huffed and puffed and then stood up, his breathing still heavy. He regarded the squirming body of Oliver with disgust and then fixed his glare at Lawton.

"Where's the girl?" he asked.

"She is Ok. Her arm was dislocated from her shoulder but I fixed it. She should be coming around any moment." replied Lawton.

"Good….set up the explosives. And set the timer for about ten minutes. We will clear out in five.…"

Lawton gave him a curt nod and went away.

Slade moved towards the broken body of Oliver and kicked him hard and flipped him over.

He leaned down close to Oliver.

"Well kid…you fought like a coward and now you are gonna die like a coward." breathed Slade.

He then clutched Oliver's costume and ripped the hood out clean with one pull.

"And …you don't deserve to wear this. You think you honor her by wearing this. You don't. You have only dredged her name through the mud. Now you won't be wearing this. You will be dead in a few moments now…lets see how many people honor you then…..Huh?"

Oliver gasped and trembled. He couldn't breath, no matter how hard he tried then couldn't inhale. He was like a fish out of water, no matter how hard he gasped for breathe, he couldn't breath. He couldn't feel anything accept the pain. He was at it's mercy.

Gingerly he lifted his left hand and clasped it on Slade's shoulder. He had to breathe. He needed to get up.

But Slade had other plans, he gripped his outstretched arm and caressed it softly.

"Oh no….you aren't getting up anymore. And you, most certainly, aren't shooting any more arrows."

And with that, he wrapped his legs around Oliver's outstretched arm, twisted and mercilessly snapped his bone.

"That's for taking my eye." he spit out.

Oliver opened his mouth and a savagery, inhuman cry escaped his throat. The scream would make anyone's blood curdle. He screamed and screamed his heart out and at some point his voice stopped working. His whole body was riding a turbulent wave of pain. And he wanted it to end. He wanted the pain to end. He wanted to die. He could only take to much.

Please…please….Oh God…please let me die, his consciousness sang.

He gasped and coughed, spurting blood out. He couldn't breath and he couldn't see. The pain was overwhelming him. He had accepted defeat. He couldn't fight it. He didn't want to fight it. He wanted peace and quiet. He wanted to be embraced by the warmth. His vision started blurring and dark patches started forming. His consciousness was slipping.

Lawton returned, "The explosives are set. We should move."

"Yeah,…start the timer."

Lawton pressed a button on the detonator and the timer started. Soft beeping echoed and reverberated across the hall.

"He isn't dead." stated Lawton looking down at the broken and battered body lying near their feet. "I thought you wanted him dead. Don't you wanna kill him?"

Slade sighed, "No…my work here is done. And I want him to feel the heat before his death. Maybe that will purge him off his sins."

And then he spit on Oliver's body. "He deserves it."

Saying that all three of them, with the forth being carried by Lawton, sauntered out of the hall. After few seconds later their footsteps faded into the veil of darkness.

Then it was only Oliver left with his thoughts. He couldn't breath anymore. He couldn't see nor could he feel. He wanted everything to end. He wanted the world to stop spinning. He wanted someone to stop the pain for him. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist. His broken arm lay beside him at an awkward angle. The pain spiked taking him to a soaring height. He arched his body upwards with the pain. He was riding the tumultuous waves of pain, the crests and the troughs. He was at the apex now as the pain shook his body. The pain would end. It would end. The trough would come and the pain would subside. Soon.

Suddenly he felt was sorry for all the sins that he committed. All the people that he killed. He would take everything back if he could. But most of all he was sorry that he wouldn't be able to see his sister any more. Or Laurel. Or Felicity. Or Diggle. Or Roy. All the people that had been there with him thought the thick and thin. Would they all weep for him?

Then the pain lessened and his heart filled with emotions, a soft smile adorned his face. It was so overwhelming. It clenched his heart. This was it. He was crossing over to the other side. His consciousness was slipping and he was fading. But most of all he was happy. He would get to see his mom and dad and Tommy. He would apologize and tell them how sorry he was that he could save them. And then he would be happy with them. At last.

His body slowly exhaled the pain out. It was going to be all right, he thought. Everything was going to be okay.

An eerie silence had descended in the hall. The temperature had dropped, exuding the same chilliness of a soft, limpid winter evening. The sun was down. The day was over. Twilight had set in as the soft wind blew across the country. Night was encroaching upon them, marking the culmination of a life. And then the day would break again with the cry of a new born life. So beautiful. Life. The beginning. So much more beautiful than the end.

The heaving of his chest lessened and his breathes were getting less labored now. He was sleepy and tired. He wanted to sleep.

And then the beeping timer of the explosives slowly lulled Oliver into oblivion. Even he wasn't aware when the end whisked him away.

Right there, in the middle of that dingy and musty, old warehouse, lying under the glare of the dull light, broken and battered, Oliver Queen took his last breathe.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Author's note - As usual I would like to thank everyone for reading this story. And thank you for all the follows, favorites and the reviews.

Now please don't kill me after reading this. Writing this was quite depressing. I hope I got the emotions right. The story is almost 200 pages now and I haven't even introduced Ra's yet. Please don't stop reading after this chapter. Oliver is gonna come back but how? That I am holding close to my chest. This is only halfway. The rest of the story is gonna be more awesome.

I have uploaded 4 chapters in 20 days. That's a big feat for me. By I will have to cut my writing short because my semester finals starts from Tuesday. So I will be able to upload the next chapter somewhere around early December.

Anyway thank you again for reading my story and I implore you to stick with me to the end.

Please don't forget to drop a review.

Peace out.