07:05
Now, look say what you might want about Oliver Queen, but you couldn't deny that when he decided to go all out on something, he really pulled all the strings. Laurel might have expected to see Oliver give a smaller presentation, although this was Oliver. He had the flare for the dramatic, and it certainly showed that aspect of the billionaire off extraordinarily well.
As she watched him and Diggle leave, Laurel couldn't help but think back to when she last saw him before the yacht went down. He was so much different now than the man she kissed on that dock that day.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were missing somebody right now," came a voice from behind her, causing the lawyer to jump slightly. Turning around she could see Tommy walking up to her with a solemn smile. "Why do I feel like you've got Oliver on your mind?"
"What makes you think I have Oliver on my mind?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Just a hunch," Tommy smiled. He had feelings for Laurel, but he knew that deep down she had to have some feelings towards Oliver still. As much as he wanted to have her choose him over Oliver, he wasn't going to fight for her, because simply put, Tommy wanted her to be happy. She always saw him as a childish playboy, not unlike Oliver, but Tommy decided that he needed to prove he wasn't like that anymore. Words are one thing, but actions say everything. "So, am I right?"
Laurel sighed, and nodded. "Yeah, I had this argument with my father earlier."
"Over Oliver?" Tommy guessed, to which he earned another nod. "What about him?"
"Oh he thinks that I'm going to get back with Ollie because we've spent so much time together lately, and that he hasn't changed, not forgetting to mention for the millionth time that it was Oliver who was with Sara when she died."
"He really hates Oliver, doesn't he?"
"It's not that he hates Oliver, it's just Dad hasn't gotten past Sara's death, and he's trying to find someone to blame, because he doesn't want to admit that Sara hid that she was going with Oliver on the yacht, and that if he had been a little bit closer with her that all that could have been prevented."
Tommy crossed his arms, understanding. "We all wish that things could have been different, that Sara and everybody else that died could have been saved, but we can't keep bringing this up every time he gets angry or when you talk to Oliver."
"I know, which is why I told Dad that Oliver's moved on and doesn't love me anymore. He doesn't believe it though."
"Do you believe it, though?" the playboy asked, to which it earned a look of surprise from her.
"What?" she asked, with a confused chuckle. "Of course I believe it, Oliver's showed no interest in me since he's gotten back. I mean, he was completely supportive of the fact we slept together while he was gone."
"Laurel, it's Oliver we're talking about. He knows that at the time you were angry with him, and you thought he was dead. Of course he figured you were gonna be with someone else during that time. You should ask Oliver, just to make sure."
She smiled, hugging him. "You know, if I didn't know better you actually sounded a little mature there, Tommy."
"Just don't call me Thomas and we'll be okay."
Laurel chuckled at the comment, and merely shook her head in agreement. "Yeah, I don't see that name sitting well with you," she admitted.
He crossed his arms and sighed. "Nope, not at all. But in all seriousness though you should talk to Oliver."
Yeah, I should... but, I don't know if I want to.
By the time Oliver and Diggle had made it downtown, the men in the masks were already long gone. However the damage was already done. A bodega owner had been murdered and his shop was in shambles. It was hard to look at, and as Oliver stood there in his suit, he clenched his fists tightly. The owner had his throat torn out, and he knew instantly it was the werewolf.
"John, how's the process on those special arrows I asked to have made?"
"You mean the silver and wolf's bane arrows? It's a difficult process, but we've about got it ready."
"Good, we need to find them and figure out what they're doing, before they find whoever that Dark Lord might be."
The Death Eaters sat there, watching the werewolf Fenrir Greyback wipe the blood off of his face from his fresh kill. He began walking slowly to the other side of the room and glanced at the map of Starling City they had plastered. "We'll find him soon enough. His scent was faint, but... the Lord is here."
"Who is the new Lord? I know for a fact it isn't You-Know-Who. He's been gone for a long time, Potter made sure of that." one of the men named Scabior asked. Greyback chuckled at his response. "What?"
"He's not gone... just weak. However, he's out the picture now." Greyback hissed, and licked his canines as he scratched off part of the map they had checked. "The new Lord, he's far more powerful than the last. Potter wouldn't be able to fight back. He'd have no choice but to either kneel or die."
"More powerful? If I recall, some of the rumors about You-Know-Who was that he was magically enhanced, made to be essentially immortal. How, how could the new one be more powerful?"
"He learned from the mistakes of his predecessors..." one pointed out, gaining Scabior's attention. "Grindelwald and You-Know-Who."
The name Grindelwald certainly sent chills down his back, he had heard some of the stories. The self proclaimed future leader of the Wizarding World, seeking to protect the magicals from the danger muggles posed. He had seen visions of World War 2 and wanted to prevent it. In a sense, it would have been better for him to achieve this goal of stopping the war, but many didn't like the idea of enslaving the non-magicals.
Many didn't know it, but the infamous battle between Albus Dumbledore and Grindelwald, it didn't go the way everyone said. Albus was not the one who won that battle, it was actually Aurelius Dumbledore, the long lost brother. Credence, the Obscurus that had gone on a rampage through Manhattan a few years earlier was the long lost Dumbledore sibling. Aurelius had the power of an Obscurus in his magic, and therefore was able to gain the edge in the battle against Dumbledore. A battle like no other, seen only by a few.
The one story Scabior had heard that truly terrified him more so than anything else was the dark rituals Grindelwald undertook to increase his power...
What exactly the ritual was, he couldn't say — all he knew is that he was trapped in a sort of Dark magic so intrinsically foul that his lungs ached even from breathing it and he didn't know if he could stop screaming, now that he'd started, not with something intangible and malevolent flaying his magic from him like—
He'd think of what it was like when he wasn't shredding his own vocal cords against the pain of being devoured, like something alive was consuming his magic and ripping at his chest cavity to get at more. He couldn't move, the same something that had him splintering open had him by the limbs, by the hips, a hard intangible grip at the nape of his neck-
Full screams had come down to a thin animal keening by the time the ritual was complete. The Director's sounds weren't terribly different from any of the broken gibbering of the other sacrifices, but he at least had excellent reason for them — the unbonded Obscurus from Sudan had held him tightly enough against his struggling that his leg was broken and his shoulders twisted into positions that weren't geometrically impossible but certainly weren't physiologically correct. A slight miscalculation — he'd assumed that the force of the Obscurus was more psychic than physically-grounded, but that was easily fixed. He willed them healed, waved the Elder wand with the sort of lazy precision to be expected of a fledgling god, and was pleased to watch the visible injuries straighten into more normal lines.
The bruises he left. He liked the look of them, the marks that Percival Graves had agreed to bear when he'd promised himself over in exchange for the attention Gellert might have offered the boy.
He laughed a little, when Percival flinched blindly from touch and then went limp in his grip — he had not lost his fighting spirit, even as his magic was being channeled in new ways for the good of the Order and any man might be forgiven for having retreated fully into unconsciousness to deal with that sort of strain. Not his dear Director, though, still so strong and wild-so perfect, to act as the buffer for the Sudanese Obscurus's full might, so that it might be properly tethered to the array of mirrored capture spells and ultimately back into him and the Elder wand.
"I knew you'd be perfect for this, my dear, and you were, you are."
Percival whimpered-pain, not only fear-when he scooped him up, panted like a sick dog at being jostled. Gellert frowned a moment, peering into the threads of magic that power made visible, if not fully tangible.
"Ah, I see the trouble. It is never a hardship to take what's mine, of course, and your magic just needs the reminder, doesn't it? Now don't worry, my dear Director— I'll manage the heavy-lifting tonight; you've done a beautiful job and deserve a nice reward, hmm?"
Now, if Grindelwald was capable of that, what would this new Dark Lord be capable of?
Scabior dreaded to think of the possibilities. Greyback seemed to notice this new fear that washed over the Death Eater and merely gave a demented bloody smile. "So, you're finally beginning to realize what's going to happen when he comes out of the shadows, aren't you?"
The truth was, if Scabior would be able to admit it, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know who this new Dark Lord was. Greyback seemed to know what was going on in his head because all the Death Eater could hear was a small chuckle from the werewolf. "Oh, you are..."
"Do you know who he is?"
"Of course I do," Greyback replied. "Why do you think I'm still alive?"
That question made Scabior grow even more confused, but that was not a path he wanted to go down today. The bodega owner was killed because he was a simple bystander in the way, and if he questioned Greyback, then he might suffer a death far worse than just having his throat torn out.
Words could not describe the scene of that bodega, as much as Oliver and Diggle tried to explain to Hermione. She had to see it for herself. In a moment, she was there, hidden thanks to Harry's invisibility cloak, which she had gotten from Dumbledore, he'd after all managed to collect all of Harry's belongings shortly after his disappearance when the yacht went down. She could see the bodega owner and felt sick to her stomach. His eyes were still open, full of terror, glancing her way. From the looks of it, whatever had killed him made sure he died slowly, the blood trail made that clear. It looked like his throat was torn open from the counter, and the owner tried to crawl away, nearly, just nearly making it to the door. Nobody could save him. The cops were sickened by the sight, and Hermione was right there with them.
What was even the point of killing him? Some sort of ritual? No, can't be... it's like that thing just wanted to see him struggle to his last painful breath. Can't say for certain but it doesn't look like any body parts were taken, the only damage is around his throat. Did they take his blood? Hermione pondered to herself, as she glanced up towards the ceiling. Right behind the counter was a camera, making her smile ever so lightly. They didn't think about the cameras. Hopefully there's something on there.
She quietly made her way into the backroom where the security footage was kept in the office, and pulled up the footage from the attack. She could hear every single word that came through, and held her breath. Would she be able to see him die? Her body shivered at the thought of it. She still had nightmares from watching Cho be decapitated by Harry that night, so she really didn't want to watch this and watch the death of a man who was merely at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Don't get cold feet now, you knew what you were signing up for when you decided to stay. I'm not here for Harry... I'm here because I want to help people.
Hermione cursed herself for what she was certain would traumatize her and pressed play on the footage.
"He's been here... recent. We're getting closer..." The dark growl came from the werewolf, and Hermione's eyes grew wide at the sight of who it was. Fenrir Greyback... the werewolf who bit Remus Lupin.
She dreaded the thought that it was actually Greyback. The things she'd heard about him, if she were to be honest the only person on this team that could match Greyback's strength would be Harry. How would Oliver be able to stand up against him, even with whatever upgrade he had cooking at Queen Consolidated? That thing was capable of fighting twenty men head on, and they were using magic.
"What about Potter?"
"His scent is long gone..."
They were worried about Harry? Do they know who he really is?
Hermione saw the bodega owner come into view, and had to look away as the attack happened. As he laid on the ground, slowly crawling towards the door, desperately trying to escape as what little bit of life he had left was leaving him, Hermione held back tears.
"What the hell?! YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO KILL HIM." The one Death Eater screamed, pushing Greyback against the wall. "If you wanted to keep a low profile you wouldn't have killed him!"
"It was necessary... Scabior. With that blood, we'll find him."
So, it was a ritual killing. They needed the bodega owner's blood to find this Dark Lord. This isn't good.
Lance had a lot on his mind as he stepped onto the sidewalk, looking at the building. It was a good thing that they had checked Electrocutioner's person before he spontaneously combusted. There had been a piece of paper with an address on there, and from the looks of it, it was something Electrocutioner had just managed to snatch before he was rendered unconscious.
This building already gave an aura of pure malice and dread, Lance noted as he stepped into the doorway and noted that a smell of burnt flesh still lingered in the air. The pungent smell made his stomach churn, his feet barely wanted to move now as his nostrils flared up. His hand instinctively reached for his gun as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end.
From there, he found a bloody scene straight out a horror film, a torture room that would have made even the most body horror experts shiver at the sight. Instruments of torture laid throughout the room, and blood was quite literally everywhere.
He could see the chair where Electrocutioner had been held, burn marks were deep into the wood, and even now a bloody knife stuck out of the chair. From the looks of it, Electrocutioner was pulled off of the chair with enough force that the knife just came out through his back.
Honestly, Lance wasn't sure what to make of this, only that the mention of the 'devil' could only mean one thing. The one who took Electrocutioner had to be the Red Arrow, the proclaimed 'Devil of Starling City.'
Seeing the one knife lodged in the chair, Lance reached for it and began to pry it from the wood when he heard a sudden 'phoosh' sound, like flames being in the wind, making him turn to see red eyes watching him from the darkness.
"So, you're the one that did this. Why?"
There was no response as the figure stepped forward, and now there was no doubt that this was the Red Arrow. His suit was iconic, and the eyes infamous. "What, you're not talking today?"
The Red Arrow didn't response, as he flicked his wrist and the walls of the room burst into flame, shocking Lance as he dropped the knife. In his terror, Lance stumbled towards the exit as the Red Arrow merely stood in the center of the blazing torture room, becoming engulfed in the flames, until all Lance could see through the flames was his eyes.
He always talks, is that really him?
By the time Lance was able to call in the firefighters, it was too late, the room was destroyed and whatever evidence was in it was gone. One thing now was clear in his mind though, the Red Arrow was responsible for the death of the Electrocutioner.
"Alright, thanks Hermione. If you get those arrows finished let me know, we need to stop them before anyone else dies," Oliver said as he sat down at his desk. He's had a lot on his mind the past few weeks ever since the issue came about with Harry's identity, and it's led him to mull things over that he hadn't previously thought of before. Oliver figured that the two of them were able to cover each other's backs in regards to their identities, but the mere fact that Thea was in danger made things abundantly clear that he was wrong.
He needed to make sure that if he were personally targeted his family couldn't be in the crossfire, so he thought about looking into an apartment. It wasn't like he hadn't considered moving out before, but there was now a sense of urgency behind it.
"Of course, Ollie. I'll call you later. I got a late night ahead of me." Hermione replied, before getting off the call.
He scrolled through some of the penthouses that were available in Starling, lost in his thoughts. Out of nowhere, he heard a light knock on his door. Closing his laptop, Oliver cleared his throat. "Come in."
Opening the door was Laurel, looking like she herself had a lot on her mind. "Hey, hope I'm not disturbing you."
"No, not at all!" Oliver smiled brightly. "Everything alright?"
"I was hoping to talk to you about something."
"Uh, alright. What's up?"
She walked over to the windowsil and sat down, glancing outside. "This room hasn't changed a single bit, haven't been in here since..."
"Halloween, 2005... we were getting ready for Tommy's party."
"Yeah, right... I wore those horrible fishnets." Laurel cringed at the memory, gaining a laugh from Oliver.
"I thought you looked good; Laurel, what's going on?"
Laurel sighed, thinking back to her argument with her father. "Dad seems to think that we're getting back together."
"What?" Oliver chuckled, thinking she was joking. "Why would he think that?"
"We've spent a bit of time together recently and he's gotten this crazy idea in his head that we're going to get back together, that's it's some grand plan of yours to get back with me because you still love me."
Oliver stood there, surprised. He bit the inside of his cheek for a second, unsure of how to say anything. "That's uh... yeah, that's crazy."
"I mean, it's been five years, and you've shown no interest in me. I mean, we both moved on, right? For a while there, I was wondering if you hadn't, but you were so supportive of Tommy and I when you found out..."
"Laurel, I..." Oliver tried to respond, but Laurel kept going on.
"I just wish my Dad would understand that there's nothing going on between us."
"Laurel, I haven't moved on. I still love you." Oliver burst out, nearly knocking the air right out of Laurel with his declaration.
Before she could even muster a thought, Oliver held up his hand to stop her from responding. "Before you say anything... let me just say this. I hurt you, and I spent five years regretting that decision every day. Your picture that I kept in my wallet was the only thing that kept me going for as long as I could remember. I may love you, Laurel... but I'm not stupid. There's too much baggage here. Nothing can happen between us, because of what I did. You deserve better than me, and I'm willing to live with that."
She's silent for all of that, but finally comes back with...
"I know, Ollie. I'd be an idiot to not know that, plus Harry kinda threw you under the bus anyway the day your death certificate was renounced. I'm just, just shocked you said that."
"Why?"
"Because, I never thought you'd grow up enough to take responsibility like that."
"Maybe that's because you don't really know me as well as you think you do," he shrugged, gaining a raised eyebrow from her.
"Then, maybe if that's the case... I'd like to get to know who you really are then."
"Someday, maybe you will."
An awkward silence fell upon them, but Oliver is the one to break it again. "You know, if you want I can tell your father that I have no intention of getting you back, if you want that is."
She shook her head. "I can't ask you to do that, I, I just wanted to clear my head, honestly. Seeing you earlier at the conference, it just hit me is all."
"Well, don't worry about it Pretty Bird."
Laurel blinked at the name. He hadn't called her that in years, it was his pet name for her when they were dating. She almost missed it.
She climbed to her feet, and walked over to Oliver, giving him a hug. "Thank you, Ollie. I'll let you get back to what you were doing, you have a good night."
"You too, Laurel."
As Oliver watched her leave, a thought came to his mind, and a small smile came across his face.
