Match

Oliver knew he was there.

It was an alchemic response by his body to a threat, the cold steel that gathered in his limbs, the calm that descended on his wits, as though every fiber of his being was still actively trying to defy Ra's' and defy the rage that hissed inside him.

As he fought Kirigi, Onyx, Cheshire — the other League members in the pit — he felt nothing but coldness. Even though his body took abuse from their weapons and he traded blows with ferocity, it was calm and measured, lacking the rage he supposedly needed. He was an aimed arrow, trained on a single point — a single target.

He would defeat Ra's al Ghul.

But he needed his blood first.

Before the day's training, Nyssa had shot Oliver a brief look — lacking for that single moment the unconcern and opacity she presented to observing eyes — a glimpse of black fire that reminded him exactly why he was here, and what he was fighting for.

Felicity, Diggle, Roy — all waiting for him to finish this. He could get them all away from here. Just with Ra's' blood.

Oliver perceived everything with sudden ruthless clarity. Ra's would descend in anger and teach Oliver a lesson. Hammer him to the breaking point, force him to the edge and dig the tip of his blade into his throat, just so that he could be the one who caused Oliver's control to shatter.

So Oliver sparred calmly, methodically, knowing that his control would only anger Ra's until he could stand it no longer.

But then he sent in someone else.

Nyssa took the arena, her eyes black with a kind of fury only Oliver recognized — her resentment at being summoned to do her father's bidding, to fight like a directed marionette.

But they both knew how to keep up appearances. Oliver mirrored her stance, planting the staff on the ground, and looking towards her father — who watched from the balcony above.

They bowed.

"Begin," said Ra's, with a downward sweep of his hand.

It was a test, but Oliver didn't know what it was. Nyssa was as proficient with a Bo staff as she was with any other weapon, which meant that she could beat him if he didn't stay present. Sweat slid off his body, stinging as they glided over scrapes, but he watched Nyssa. Her face was a mask, the one she wore when she fought like the Demon's Heir.

Their staffs met with a resounding crash. Nyssa hurled him off with surprising force and swung the staff at his head — but stopped just shy of it.

"One-zero," she said curtly, and he realized that she'd known all along that they were playing for points.

She withdrew, twirling the staff back to her side, as though to reset their positions. Oliver looked up at Ra's, whose mouth had curved into a smile of cruel pride.

Oliver felt his vision pulse with anger. At the fact that they were being asked to fight like trained monkeys. At the fact that Ra's was still playing games with him.

Oliver shook his head and reverted to his original stance. He couldn't let his anger work against him, not when the Demon was the one he wanted to draw out.

Nyssa's jaw clenched and she brought the staff down. Oliver leapt aside and swung the staff towards her side. She knocked him off-course but he pushed, forcing her to retreat, and pressed his advantage. He caught the staff and forced her arm up — the butt of the Bo staff stopping just short of her ribs, a blow that would have fractured bone just as surely as her blow would have cracked his skull open.

"One-one," he said.

And on it went.

They were neck-in-neck, each gaining a point as soon as they'd lost one, with no clear ending in sight. The spectators had begun to react whenever either of them pulled an impressive move, but only Ra's never called off the match.

What is he trying to prove?

Oliver's back stung with the mingling of blood and sweat, but he continued to fight. Finally, he brought the staff down with enough force to crack Nyssa's down the middle. Her nostrils flared with anger, and Nyssa hurled him off — causing the wood to splinter completely. Contemptuously, she tossed the pieces aside and said something over her shoulder.

A bow and a quiver of arrows landed in the sand behind Oliver. Nyssa was already picking hers up, slinging the arrows across her shoulder and loading an arrow into her bow.

Oliver only stared at her.

They were allies — weren't they? It was hard to tell when he sensed the anger in her, the rage that crackled in the air.

"Pick up your weapon, Oliver Queen," she said.

"I'm not going to shoot you," he said, holding the staff by his side.

The arena murmured. Nyssa rolled her eyes — and shot him.

Oliver tasted salt and sand, his hearing drowned by the sound of his own blood rushing from his body. He hauled himself up, survival instincts kicking in, and gripped the wooden shaft in his slick fist. There was a risk the arrowhead would be stuck inside the wound, but Oliver didn't want it tearing at him as he fought. It would have to be quick and painful.

Gritting his teeth, he yanked. The arrow rent through muscle with a soft squelch, and Oliver threw it to the side as a narrow rivulet of blood made its way down his shoulder. The adrenaline was stopping him from feeling the pain, but that wouldn't last for long.

A bowstring drew taut behind him.

Oliver lunged for the bow. He rolled out of the way, sending up a spray of sand between them, spun with an arrow loaded — and fired back.

Nyssa swerved, and the arrow hit wood instead of flesh. She circled and shot again. Oliver shot back, and his arrow cut hers in two.

Sparks showered the ground from the broken arrowheads, and her lips curled wickedly at the humor of it. But they were still enemies in the arena, and they fired as if to kill.

"Enough," said Ra's.

Nyssa bowed, holding her bow out by her side. Oliver did the same, kneeling in the sand. The ground around them was littered with broken arrowheads, and their bows were notched with gouges, from being crossed like blades.

"Father — has this exhibition pleased you?" Nyssa asked, lifting her head.

Without speaking, Ra's drew his hands together and clapped, and soon the rest of the arena followed. It was a cacophony of discordant mirth, a savage display of joy at a near-fight to the death.

"I think we have all seen what needs to be seen," said Ra's. "That my daughter has met her match in Oliver Queen."

Oliver's head jerked up. He didn't like the sound of that at all, and from the way Nyssa's knuckles were clenched around the shaft of her weapon, neither did she.

But Ra's only looked at them with his inscrutable black eyes and they could only guess what he was planning.

Return of the Oliver abuse. Bwahahaha. Side note: wrote this while listening to the Pacific Rim OST. The other chapters were the Mockingjay Part 1 OST. More to come soon.