A monk was always simple to spot, in New Apokolips. Even though the hooded shawls they wore usually were of different colors, they all wore them the same. Each careful to hide in the deep shadows of the streets, as though they were hiding from something or someone. Most of the populace just ignored them. If they spoke, one should walk away from them, especially in the slave district, where the orders of renegades and rebels of Darkseid frequented. One didn’t want to get caught in that kind of conversation… It was dangerous!

The monk seemed to move fast across the trash littered streets. The lithe form pushing his shawl close to his body veering around people and stationary objects. Strangely, his hood never once budged from his cranium however, no matter the updraft of cold winds that pulsated through the gritty city streets.

The building of his desire came into view when he turned the corner of the alley. He veered left into a virtual labyrinth of metal and blinking lights. The small bar uncovered itself from the thick fog, like a ratty and frayed gray curtain rising to expose a much more disheveled stage. The building was simple and square. It was the same strange shades of blue and gray as the other buildings, but it was flat and short. The bar had a red letterbox across the top of the crumbling Greco décor it was riddled with. The letters illuminated “MERCURY” posed underneath a miniature stoop connected to a set of cracking concrete steps. The Monk never stopped to look at the eyesore.

A hand pushed itself from the folds of the green fabric. The tawny archer’s gloved hand pushed on the ancient wooden door of the bar, the hinges squeaking as gravity swung it inward. Light illuminated from the open doorway, presenting yellow rays of light across the darkened stoop. Small triangles of cocoa colored flesh appeared on the monk’s face where the warm light had canceled out the shadows. He took neither the light nor the fowl smell of the roasting meat to mind. Instead, he stepped into the Mercury Bar.

The clatters of mugs and glasses greeted the figure, when he entered. The deep almond shaped eyes escaped the shadows of the hood and flicked across the space of round tables. Tables were filled with slaves from various alien races, creeds, and jobs. As different as they looked, they all had warm smiles painted across their over-worked faces. Each patron had warm drink in their bellies and idle chatter surrounding them. In many ways, the young Monk envied the workers of this place. They had what he himself had lacked most of his life-- friends and family-- a niche in this brutal world. However, each person who drank and laughed did not have the life the Monk assumed they did. To the slaves and mine workers, there was no dignity of labor; the family and friends they coveted did little to appease the pains in their limbs and joints.

The figure turned his eyes from the tables and onto the bar, which lay directly in front of him. His contacts had told him she would be here. However, those who have run from the Orphanage always blended in well. If they didn’t, they would have been spotted simply and put back into that hell on earth. The Monk knew what he was looking for. There was a way one acted when they come from such an environment, a certain movement of body; a certain way to present one’s self. Of course, a Slave Worker’s bar was the perfect place to go-- because most slaves held themselves the same as the children of the Orphanage.

But his attention to detail always paid off, this Monk knew exactly what he was looking for, it was why he was called for this sort of job. He could always spot the runaway, for once upon a time this monk himself had been one.

His eyes came to a stop at the far end of the bar. He narrowed his eyes to watch the tall blond haired woman who pressed her back into the wall. Her hair was long but frayed and uncombed. Her clothing was dirty and torn. Her skin though, covered in grim could not cover up the scars of torture. The marks of laser whips and burns from the mines looked very different from the work of Granny Goodness. The Monk’s eyes sought across her skin, as he turned his stride towards the bar counter. His eyes looked at her left shoulder as he approached.

“Looks like the shoulder clamp really got you last time. What was that, the electronic gazer, or the Water test?” The Monk asked, coming to a stop behind her.

The Blond haired girl turned her entire body towards the Monk. Her left forearm went high lashing through the air. The Monk simply arched his back, bowing his body miss the arc of the attack. “I’m not going back!” She wailed.

“I think you have me confused with someone else.” The monk mentioned as the woman lashed a fist at his face. The Monk’s left arm came up quick, batting the attack with a simple raking block.

“Is that so? Then Who…” She threw a fist at the Monk only to have another fist batted away… “Are you?” Her knee came up to attempt to hit the Monk’s crotch, only to have the Monk, to bring up his own right knee to block her attack.

“They call me the Green Arrow. I’m from the Ashram; we want to help you. No doubt Granny is already looking for you.” The Monk stepped forward his right hand came towards her at wind blinding speed. His index and middle finger pressed softly at the bottom of her chin as he came to a stop. “You really need to trust somebody.”

“If the girl doesn’t want to go with ya bub.” A loud and quite slurred voice called from behind the Green Arrow.

The Monk took a large step back, releasing the girl from pressure threat. His left arm bent at the elbow and slammed into the loud man’s belly. The rock hard abdomen stung his elbow as he connected. However, he didn’t let them stop the completion of his attack as his head jolted upwards, the base of his skull smashing into the man’s throat. As the man went to grab his throat the Monk used his left leg to bring around in a sweep, taking the man’s legs out from under him. All everyone watching saw was a rapid succession of strikes, and a man hitting the ground.

“We should go.” Green Arrow told the girl. “I’ve probably already endangered you. The sooner we get out of The Lord’s eyes the safer you will be.”

	The Emerald Archer... The Fallen Son
Green Arrow #10- June, Year 4	by Jae Lizhini

The thick shadows above the streets of the Slave District, masked the form who sat perched across from the Mercury Bar splendidly. However, the form, who sat obfuscated in a black spandex body suit, and black headdress, didn’t need such shadows to remain hidden. His left hand, exposed from the sleeve of his body suit seemed almost stark white in comparison to the rest of his form, posed with a digital binocular pushed against his eyes. He stayed still, watching as a green clad monk escorted his target from the bar.

His hand slid down to his hunched side once more. The binoculars set beside his person. His whispered voice attacked the silent aura the assassin had created. “The target is spotted. A monk is with her.”

Robert Tomanga’s eyes squinted into smaller slits, as he watched the two specks step down the cracked steps of the bar. His right palm itched. His mind was already dreaming of his energy rifle. He, like his mother, was a ninja through and through, a student of a killing art that had spanned centuries before earth had been taken over by Lord Darkseid... However unlike his mother, Robert rarely used the ancient weapons in long distance hits. He was a high tech assassin, and his choice of toys over tools was not accepted well by his mother, the Female Fury known as Shado.

--Terminate the Monk. Capture Crackshot.-- the grainy voice ordered into the ninja’s ear.

“By your command, Sensei” He spoke, hearing the crackling subside. His knees knocked against the cold cement of the rooftop as his right hand’s fingers curled around the butt of his energy rifle. The heavy weapon softly clanked into place as its stock met the waiting left hand. Robert slid his gun, against his shoulder, his head pushed into the scope.

His left arm was locked into place at a crooked bend; his exposed fingers numbed by the cold that the metallic weapon had absorbed. He veered the gun into place, as he watched the field of view pan searching for the monk’s position. The green clothed man seemed a bit more camouflaged on the empty street than Robert would have thought. He slowed down the movement of the gun. He momentarily caught the slightest glimmer of blond hair. His crosshairs fell onto the back of Crackshot’s head. Her long blond hair bobbed across her back as she kept up with the monk’s quicker stride, who walked to her left. Robert smiled as he veered his gun slightly to the left, following the motion of the figures. He lined up the red crosshairs on the emerald hooded form. A smile slipped across the man’s lips as he watched them for the brevity of a few seconds, feeling his shot before his thin middle finger pushed on the trigger.

Crackshot was the first to notice the sudden shift of the light. Where the street lights had been at static angles, suddenly something had pushed its way through for but an instant. On such a catch of sight, even no matter how short it was she was taught to act on it. She would not question her instincts now. The young orphan turned her head around, her eyes quickly surveying the area. As she did, her eyes caught the glimmer of a well polished gun catching glitters of light. A snaked silhouette stood at the ready, amidst the small orbs of white dancing off his gun. HE WAS POSED TO SHOOT! Though her movements were not as honed as the monk’s, a few steps above her, it was enough for her to lunge forward, her left shoulder smashing into his right.

Connor felt the sudden pain in the small of his back, as the girl slammed her weight into him. Under normal situations he might have used her momentum against her but he did not risk hurting her. Instead he bent his legs inward and shifted the weight of his torso to ride the attack. His body collapsed to the ground moments before she did-- moments before a streak of red energy soared over him smoldering the slower fabric of his shawl.

The Monk looked up at the large black hole above his head, comparing nicely to the gray colored building that loomed like a wall. Vapors of gray colored smoke twirled almost translucent into the night air. “Thanks.” Connor said graciously using his arms to pull himself slowly from the cold concrete. His palms burnt from the scratching of the rough ground from where he landed, his head throbbing lightly from impact.

“They are here!” Crackshot shrilled. “They have found me! We must go! Quickly!” She thundered as she leapt up almost instantly. Her body pushed forward, taking off into a sprint down the alley.

Connor looked at the soldered sleeve of his olive green shawl momentarily before he took off into the darkened alleyway after orphanage runaway.

*****

Robert Tomanga growled out loud, as the targets dodged his shot. He sprung up from his spot, haphazardly swinging his gun over one of his soldiers. “Pursue them, with orders to exterminate the Monk!” The angered Ninja barked. He took a step toward the edge of the roof he had been hunched against and then, with a scorned expression on his face, he leapt over the side.

The wind ruffled against his hair as he fell through the night sky. His left hand quickly ran across the black straps at his shoulder. His index finger pressed one of the tabs that ran the length of the left shoulder, as miniature glider wings snapped outwards from his back. His descent slowed and he leaned forward, his body shifting to a horizontal angle as the glider wings caught the night’s air.

The air chilled against his face, as he turned to the street that loomed several feet below him. His height was a few stories below the tops of the large alien buildings that loomed over the skyline of this Slave’s district.

Robert watched as black dots emerged from the buildings he was soaring along. Members of his clan had been leaping out from the rat holes they had created; black clothed warriors just like him, unsheathing swords and energy weapons from their belts. Perhaps he still would have this day. However, he would still hear about the unclean way in which his orders had been carried out. That single thought enraged the man more. He arched his body as he swooped into a decent. Perhaps there’d be enough of the Monk for him to rip apart before he died.

Connor Hawke wasn’t sure when it started exactly. He knew he heard the footfalls of the ninja fall from the rooftops as he began to catch up to Crackshot. But they had advanced on him quickly. Now they were on their tails. Each one gearing up for attack, pulling shuriken and needle pipes from wherever in the their costumes they were able to stick such things… which, judging by the spandex body suits, left little to the imagination. The young monk shifted his torso sideways and flung up his left hand in quick succession as another shuriken flew towards their bodies. His middle and ring finger spread apart as he pushed his arm upwards. The quick motion of his wrist easily caught the momentum of the object and allowed it to be caught between the blades. With a grunt, he pushed his arm back outwards and tossed the weapon back into the crowd of pursuing ninja.

The blade flew hard, as though all the man’s anger had gone into the simple wrist flick of the shuriken. The ninja in the front of the horde never saw it coming. The blade sunk like metal on warm butter, wedging itself between the windpipe and jugular. The Ninja screamed a splatter of blood, before falling face first onto the unforgiving pavement.

Connor only smiled as he heard the thudding of the lead ninja, he didn’t bother to look at the outcome. Instead, his eyes looked toward Crackshot, who was struggling to keep up. His smile faded as he shifted his weight behind him. His left hand formed a Shuto Fist* as he turned his torso once again.

Even as the Monk turned to face, the horde, an attacker’s leg lashed out towards his position. He flipped his body around as the leg had come forward. His single Shuto fist slipped parallel to the extended kick, the foot catching his shoulder. Connor’s two fingers pushed hard into the man’s chin as he pushed towards the ninja’s body. Connor felt the crack in the man’s throat as he came to his full arm span. The ninja’s body stiffened at the strike. The Monk’s right hand flew from his robe, his open palm smashing into the now lifeless ninja. The corpse flew from where it stood, colliding with the front running ninjas of the horde.

Having come to a full stop at the latest series of motions he had used, Connor raised his body upwards. His slender green eyes glanced at the ninjas who were pushing around the corpse he had shoved toward them. He turned his body in a quick twist and leaned back into the sprint. His robes fluttered moments behind his form; the heavy footfalls of the pursuing ninja, however were ever present as he darted up the alleyway. His eyes searched for the blond woman he was supposed to be saving.

SHRREEP! A sudden energy discharge at the mouth of the alleyway put a shudder over the monk’s shoulders. He felt the warm current ease up his back, as the bluish energy highlighted the blond hair of Crackshot, along with a series of more Ninja creating a wall at the mouth of the alley. More electronic shots fired belting off the walls of the ever-looming gray buildings. Green Arrow picked up his pace, leaning into the run. The Ninja behind him however still sounded as close as ever.

“Doing a bang up job in the saving bit.” Crackshot shouted as the Monk neared her position. Her left leg lashed out from her hip, a bootheel smashing the nose bridge of an unlucky ninja. Her body turned, her left arm veered across the alleyway as she tightened her grip on the blaster. Her index finger tightened as she squeezed the metallic trigger sending another burst of energy toward a ninja.

As Connor came to a stop near Crackshot, the ninjas began to close in on both sides of the duo. Those in front of them had finally begun to pull the laser rifles free from their shoulders. Those ninja behind them began to bring swords and laser pistols forward. Connor breathed hard, the moment of pause gave the monk a fleeting moment of organizing himself. His hands posed at the ready, his left hand stretched from his side in an open palm, his right in the air stretched fully open. His legs were slightly bent. His eyes searched the bodies that were narrowing the twosome’s options of escape routes. “Seems like we have an advantage, they only want to kill me.”

“How exactly is that an advantage?” Crackshot asked, her eyes gazing at the battery meter on the side of the deep blue weapon.

“Well it makes your getaway less of a longshot. Course, I’d suggest rationing the battery power you have left in your gun.”

“And here I was expecting: Confucius say ‘Death relates advantage in all things’” she said. She pointed her blaster at the ninjas in front of her. Three of the Ninjas lunged forward at her position. The rest of the remaining squad brought their guns to their shoulders trained on non-vital areas of her person. Her left arm moved to aim and she pressed the trigger. She stepped forwards, toward the other two ninja, her hand finding the center attacker’s chest and the one on the t right’s shoulder.

Connor had already stepped forward to meet the Ninja from behind. He found the irony in the tactics of the leader of this crew. It was as though they had put the wrong squads in the wrong places. The Artillery men were defiantly supposed to be attacking him, and the weapon masters were supposed to be after her. It was defiantly lucky for them, that someone coordinating her capture was new at tactics. “I never learned the Chinese parables. I was trained in the orphanage, not at an ashram.” His opened right hand swooped down as a swordsman dove the blade towards him.

Connor’s left foot arched to the side as he bent forward, to duck the slash; the open hand batting the wrist of the swordsman. A snap of bone masked the grunt of the swordsman as the attack hit. Drawing himself forward, the monk slammed his head into the ninja’s chin. The force causing his teeth to gnash together, his body forced hard to the ground.

“I didn’t know they taught martial arts there, I feel gypped.” She grinned before going into a roll as a red energy beam shot towards her former area of occupancy.

Connor momentarily looked to see her roll as laser shots came close to his person. He bent his back, and pushed with his knees, creating a splendid one hand back flip in the transition. Red blasts bounced off the pavement. The pistol carriers who intermingled with those ninja’s with swords helped out firing blasts at the flipping monk.

As he came to a stop, he pushed his body low, sliding to his haunches. His hand pulled the tied belt free from his waist-- exposing a dark brown skin-tight suit from under the boisterous clothing he wore. The monk only smiled as the strange tactic caused the ninja to hesitate for but an instant. With sparing moment of freedom, the young monk flipped back the robe to uncover a wooden bow over one shoulder and a green quiver of arrows across his back. Standing up, he posed the bow into his left hand, the robe billowing freely in the night air.

“Now let’s kick this up a notch.” He spoke, a look of anger, and glee mixed into his widening eyes. His left foot spread out from under his shoulder as he twisted his torso 180 degrees, slipping his arm from the left sleeve. The large robe took to the air from half his body as he bent forward. Laser holes riddled through the thin fabric. Pulling three arrows from his quiver in the same forward position, he stood up. Notching each shaft against the bowstring, using his fingers as spacers, he drew and fired at the group behind him.

The three arrows arched from on another like independent missiles, hissing through the night air. Three unrecognizable groans blanketed the scene, as the Monk twisted his body about face, drawing another arrow from his quiver. He smiled as he took the space of a second to notch the arrow into his bowstring, before dropping into a short roll. Laser shots bounced off the pavement on either side of him as he rolled in the fluid motion. As his feet clapped onto the dark pavement, his body leapt into attention; the still notched bow was unfolded from his chest and brought forward. His eyes only took a moment to see the fire escape ladder that hung a few feet from the ground at the mouth of the alley. With as much strength as his forearms mustered he drew the bow back and fired the arrow toward the holding clip of the large metal ladder.

A loud grinding of metal squealed to life; the ladder smashed from its nested position, screeching downwards smashing into the left most groups of laser riflemen in a steady crunch. The Monk had already notched another arrow as the ladder came down, managing to let another go free from his fingers to chorus the fire escape. “Go Crackshot!” The Monk shouted just before he lunged across the alleyway, pulling yet another arrow from the arsenal he wore on his back.

The runaway didn’t need a second word of encouragement, before bringing her gun to her shoulder and leaping into a mad run. Her laser blaster lashed out electric flashes of power as she ran. Red laser fire however didn’t cease. The two remaining riflemen were encouraged by those with pistols from behind. Her limbs felt like they were going to jelly, as she ran, which felt like an eternity-- like everything had slowed down to slow motion. The laser shots were driving through the air sliding around her body, and colliding with the walls like a live-in-your-face fireworks display. Just as she was nearing her target an arrow swam over her head slamming into one of the riflemen’s foreheads. The sight was enough to make her space for a fleeting second. It was however the second arrow that flew moments later that caused her an even longer moment of consideration.

Connor grimaced as he let the second arrow free from his bow, once again carefully aiming around the darkened form of his newest partner in crime. Even before he let the arrow loose he knew he had scarcely miscalculated her speed and distance. The Arrow had flew true, as most of his arrows did-- he was one of the-- if not the best marksman that Granny Goodness had ever seen, just as his father had been. Archery was just a natural extension of his natural born gift. This was also why his skills in Kyusho-jistu were as deadly as they had been. He simply had an eye for detail. This, however, did not make him a god.

As the second arrow slid between the bottom rung of ladder it crashed its tail into one of the rungs, going off center. Its form went into a diagonal slant, embedding itself into the neck of the last remaining rifleman. The rifleman gapped in the sudden pain, his stiffening body, sent the rifle aiming into the air and fired madly for the few seconds of life he still retained before collapsing against the back wall, in a bone shattering thud.

Crackshot grimaced; her fingers gripped the cold metal rung of the ancient ladder. The laser fire below her had frightened her enough to have her remain perfectly still, it was the stray burst that impacted her left leg however that made her continue to hang there, her body shaking uncontrollably. It was all she could do to block out the pain and try to remain conscious.

“Move!” The Monk had yelled at her, as she dangled there. Her eyes watching as the guy moved across the alleyway, firing arrows as the ninja tried in vain to match his skill and speed. She gritted her teeth and brought her shaking hand up to the next rung, for a better grip, pulling her quivering body to the staircase. Failure was not an option for her. She’d rather die than suffer the torture that Granny Goodness had in store for her. There would be no ending to the pain. Especially after what this Monk had managed to do to her forces. She wondered how well he’d do against the Furies, half-heartedly, as she pulled her body up the ladder, using her powerful arms to do all the work.

She hadn’t always been Crackshot. She used to be called Melanie Jennings. A bright girl with a bright future, her father was a great scientist, who worked under the heel of Desaad. One day he simply didn’t get the results that was called for and Melanie never saw her father again. She and her mother were alone after that, and of course it wasn’t soon after her father’s death that Granny Goodness came calling, and Melanie found herself saying goodbye to a woman who never loved her. Melanie was eleven when it all went down. Six long years she spent being tortured and trained for Darkseid’s elite forces. They wanted her for her intelligence, but what they found out was she had so much more to offer. Though just a simple human, she was an expert marksman, and her reflexes were off the chart. Clearly not as splendid as the Monk who fought for her below, but she had never met anyone who could fire a gun as good as her. She could aim and fire repeatedly in the span of mere moments. The only person whom she’d heard who could match her skills with a blaster was Edward Fliers. He, however, was nothing more than an aged legend now.

Crackshot bit her lip as she pulled her body up the last few rungs, her eyes tightly closed to try to cancel out the pain. The blaster’s butt clanked on the ancient steps as she climbed. “Need some help, Crackshot-kun?” A voice dripping with a Japanese accent called out to her from above. Her eyes snapped open as she looked above her. A single black masked man stood over her, glider wings thrust out from his back.

“You’re the one who is gonna need help!” She spat balancing her wounded leg on the rung. She turned her body and fired on the looming figure.

Robert Tomanga’s body flipped to the left, in a blur of gray as the blast was shot from the rung. His glider wings swam as he turned his body sideways, the thin cloth rustling in the strong currents. “I’m going to enjoy this.” He spoke in deeper voice. His wings retracted as he took another step back, folding his hands into fists. “Granny never said you couldn’t be a little damaged.”

“It would be too late for that anyways.” She spoke as she pulled herself to the roof, crawling on her belly to get leverage on the new height. “But I do not plan on being taken alive. So if you want me, think more lethal, because I’m not going to go while I still draw breath.”

The Ninja sighed as he watched her injured body crawl like a slug onto the roof. He had not noticed that she had already been injured. Of course, it did not matter too much, the children from the orphanage were probably strong enough not to worry about a small laser wound to the leg. He walked forward as she crawled over the roof; his leg went forward smashing her jaw with the end of his boot.

Her light body rolled at the impact of the kick. She folded her body inward in the fetus position. Her fingers tightly wrapped around her blaster. “Is that all you have?” she groaned, feeling the warmth of blood flooding from her lips.

“We’re just getting started.” He grinned as he slowly walked toward where she was laying. Crackshot moaned in a soft breath as she pulled her arm forward, the pain her body now foliated, making it a slow process.

“Don’t be stupid.” Robert told her as he slammed his foot against her arm as she attempted to straighten it out. The gun loosened from her grip, and skidded across the concrete ground. “Give yourself up.”

“You will have to kill me.” She groaned as she pushed both her arms on the ground. “I will not go back.” She used her hands to push her body forward, only for her stomach to be met by another hard kick. The force caused her back to stiffen involuntarily. Her front teeth peeked out of her petal like lips, biting down on her bottom set.

“No, I won’t. I’ll just beat you until your unconscious.” He spoke slamming his foot into her stomach a second time. A sadistic smile came across his lips as he watched the woman’s face cringe in agony. He wanted her to feel the pain he caused her. She of course had a high pain tolerance he knew. It could be hours before she dropped consciousness. Of course, he expected the monk to be on his tail before he got to that point. Truly this was but bait. “Scream…” he said to her taking slow steps towards her crumpled form.

He was already expecting some trouble, even if he did manage to kill the monk, and take the woman. His own men had been decimated by the two of them. He would have to enjoy this. He needed to take out his anger somehow. He slammed his foot again and again into her chest. Each kick causing her to moan just a little louder. He knew she was biting the need to yelp. She did not want to give him the satisfaction.

“Scream!” he shouted this time, continuing to kick her, the inches of exposed skin above his mask turned pink as he watched her body cringe with each forceful kick. It however was not until sixth of such kicks, that he heard the high pitched squeal of the wind. His head turned up only to meet the thick wooden base of a bow.

His chin lifted up at the impact, his balance disappearing as he toppled hard to the cement roof. “Perhaps you’d better spend your time on fighting someone who can fight back.” The assailant’s voice called.

The Ninja pulled himself forward, as his head turned to look up at the still blurry brown clad form who stood before him. The short yellow hair formed as a carpet about his dark skin. “I didn’t even hear you.” The ninja said, his body rising from the ground. He stared at the man a moment, the monk who stood there, still holding his bow in both hands. He brought his left hand forward, the black spandex silent as he flipped his wrist, a single shuriken blade falling from between his fingers.

The Monk saw the blur of the weapon and shifted his hips. The blade though aimed for his throat caught his rib cage instead. Connor grimaced as he lifted one hand from the bow to pull the blade from his side. However, even as his hand withdrew the painful blade, Robert had already brought his body toward the Monk, sending a sharp kick to his head.

The impact caught the boy’s jaw-- Connor’s body tumbled to the left. It took a few fleeting rolls across the roof before his hands caught the cold floor, his feet clapping against the hard floor. With a simple hand gesture, he tossed the bloodied Shuriken from his hand.

Robert Tomanga, didn’t notice the movements the monk had made; his body was already leaping towards where the monk sat. He threw another kick at the Monk even as he was rising up from his sprawled position. Connor’s hand came out quick batting the kick with a simple movement of his arm. The Ninja used the momentum of the bat to move in closer sending a fist towards the defensive monk. With the same hand, the monk brought his forearm up catching the fist with his rock hard forearm.

As the second fist had been blocked, the monk twisted his hip springing his own kick, a full round house towards the ninja. The ninja sank down low, the kick soaring over his head. With a second motion the ninja threw out his foot, smashing into the knees of the Monk.

The Monk felt his balance give out as the feet impacted him. Folding his legs, he let his body roll backwards. With his free hand, he laid it flat on the roof, as his tumble came around again. With a one-handed hand spring, he pushed himself into the air landing, back on his feet. His eyes watched closely as the Ninja turned to where he landed his hands in a defensive form. The Monk smiled as he walked towards the Ninja, ready to finally get the upper hand. Connor was not as well taught in the soft arts as he was in the hard forms. He knew offensive strikes more so than the defensive cousins. He after all was being trained in the same manner as Robert was; they were both trained by the same woman, Shado.

“Feels like the Orphange all over again.” Robert Tomanga smiled, his eyes watching the brown clad monk advancing on him.

The Monk said not a single word as he slid the bow back over his shoulder. His eyes fixed on his opponent, the bastard son of his father and his sensei.

The Ninja let the smile under his mask fade as he drew another shuriken from his belt and tossed it into the air. The Monk’s stance didn’t change but for a simple turning of his neck, the shuriken whizzed past him. “You have improved however, but where is your focus?” Robert smiled as he drew his arms close to his chest, forming two fists.

The Monk brought an open hand towards the ninja, watching as it was batted away. As the palm was batted the Monk adjusted his form snapping a hip centered kick towards the ribs of the Ninja. The Ninja moved fluidly, his body twisting to dodge the kick. It was as the kick came down, that Connor swung his right leg high, planting a forceful heel onto the shoulder of the Ninja, the force causing him to go off balance.

“My focus has shifted.” Connor spat as he brought an open palm toward the ninja, catching his chin in a fierce strike. The Ninja’s neck snapped upwards, his body tumbling to the ground. “I now focus on those that depend on me. Depend on me to give them the freedom they deserve.”

The Ninja sat on his haunches a moment, breathing heavily, through his nose. His hand came up to wipe the blood from his nose. “That will get you killed this day.” Robert smiled. His left hand came forward, sending a shuriken blade toward the Monk. The Monk side-stepped the blade, only to catch the Ninja’s fist out of the corner of his eye.

The first fist stung as it landed on his jaw, the second fist caused a crack as his teeth chattered against each other, and the third fist delivered the force to knock Connor off his feet sending his flat on his back. “You could have had a good life, my mom said you were the best.”

Connor felt the pain of the strikes as he lay on the cold concrete. He could feel the burning of his flesh as his cheek began to swell. As he sat still on the cold concrete, he found himself thinking about his father, the Great Marksman of Apokolips, Oliver Queen. A man who had died heroically for Apokolips, Twelve years ago-- a man whose passion for battle was only bettered by his love of the bottle. Not only had his skill of Marksmanship come from his father. He also had developed his father’s anger. As a child, he had witnessed first hand, the anger and violence his father was capable of.

Ten years ago…

The smell of corn Whiskey, was not just a repugnant smell. To the nine year old, Connor Queen it was also an omen, of pain, of anger, of violence. The young boy had closed the door to his room, the moment he had gotten home from school. The house had been a wreck, the coffee table reduced to splinters and the home entertainment center was hissing in blue sparks. He didn’t need to look into the kitchen to see his father at the table drinking from the bottle, or his mother’s unconscious form laying face first in shards of broken glass. It was like this most every day. Connor stayed as quiet as he could, trying to stay focused on books and trying to stay out of the man’s way. His father used to be a great man, his mother had told him many times. This was the only reason he could not hate him.

“SO JUST SNEAKING OFF TO YOUR FUCKING ROOM!” A booming voice called from the hallway, moments before the door was smashed open. The young blond haired boy turned his head from the Science book that sprawled open in his lap. His green eyes stared into his father’s purpled face. The goatee the soldier wore only clashed with the bloodshot eyes that stared bouts of fear right into Connor’s heart.

Connor stayed silent, watching his father’s chest heave up and down as he walked through the narrow doorway. “Couldn’t even say hello to your oldman, could you? Embarrassed at what I do, maybe. Sorry for whom I am? Oh that’s right I’m just a goddamn hero.” Connor felt a dry gulp in his throat as his father came onto him. He didn’t hear half of what had been said. His heart beat had covered his ears.

He felt the first open-handed slap however. The force knocked the boy off his bed. The science book crashed moments in front of his head. The boy looked at the back cover, hearing his father’s footsteps. “You make me sick. Don’t even defend yourself. School called today, said you let some twirps beat you up again. A Queen doesn’t take that shit from nobody.”

He felt the back of his shirt tense up as his father’s fist grabbed hold of the fabric, lifting him up off the floor. “Calling you a halfie again?” His father roared as he lifted Connor off the floor. “You should be damn proud of your heritage. Fight for your family! Not let them beat the shit out you!”

Tears rolled down the boy’s tender cheeks. His swollen eyes squinted at the warm pain. “No son of mine would just take it!” The smell of whiskey on his father’s breath almost gagged him. He didn’t say a word. He bit his cheeks not to wail out.

“I’m sorry.” Young Connor said. The words were met with his father’s fist. The impact sent him out of his father’s grasp, his body hitting the floor again. He curled his body into a ball as he felt the ache not only against his face but also his chest as well.

“YOU ARE DAMN RIGHT SORRY!” Oliver Queen screamed as he slammed a foot into the back of his son…Followed by another and another.

“Please daddy, I’m sorry. There were just so many.”

Connor never remembered the kicking stopping. He always passed out first.

Connor clenched his fists, as he breathed hard through his lungs. His chest felt tender, his fingers stretched against the brutal concrete as he pushed himself up. His cheek felt numb even as he turned his heard upwards to see Robert Tomanga’s masked face looming closer to where he fell. “You went quiet, I thought I’d already lost you.” The ninja grinned, the sound of a metal blade rung as it slid between his fingers. “And what fun would that be?”

Connor was up to his knees when the shuriken was flung from the ninja’s hand. The movement was not unexpected, but the monk had little chance to dodge. The slender blade drove home sliding right below his left shoulder. He bit his lip not to scream out at the sudden pain. Instead, he rose up from where he was standing. In his heart, he knew that pain was just another fuel. He didn’t take time to pull out the shuriken. Instead, he stood where he was. His fists clinching hard enough for his nails to embed into his palms, his eyes stared holes into the ninja’s face. “We were friends once. This was enough to let me spare your life but don’t think of it as a favor.” The Monk spoke in a cool, monotone.

“What are you talking about!” Crackshot called from where she still lay. Neither Connor nor Robert turned to her direction. Instead, both men stayed still for the fleet of another moment before they both took off and ran towards the other--each one with the same look of anger as they sprinted.

Connor’s heart beat against his chest as he calculated the moves he would use as soon as he reached his former sparing partner. Robert readied another Shuriken, waiting for the right moment to toss it. Both men confident, that they had gotten better than the other. Ready to prove to the other, who had more skill.

As soon as he was three feet away, Connor went down low just as the shuriken blade blurred above him. Robert was ready, and as soon as Connor dodged the blade, he snapped a kick towards the monk’s knees. Connor twisted his leg to the side catching the foot’s impact with a well-practiced block. Robert recoiled his foot just as Connor threw a fist towards his face. He couldn’t help but block it as he regained his composure.

With the bracing of the block, Connor twisted his body around; his right leg curved as it blurred with a speed that took the ninja by surprise. The arching foot impacted the left shoulder of Robert, before snapping straight. The force sent the ninja tumbling. The monk didn’t watch as the black clad figure took the fall and rounded out the motion. Instead, he pulled the bow from shoulder in a rapid movement, and a second he had pulled one of the scarce few arrows that remained in his quiver.

Connor felt the sting of his bruised face as he let a smile curve over his lips. He drew the arrow back on the string before letting go. The shaft got no resistance as it skewered the very air. Robert’s body dove onto the concrete, but he felt the pain in his forearm as the shaft caught a hold of his diving body.

Robert looked down at the half-submerged arrow before he leapt back to his feet. Connor, however, had pulled another arrow from his quiver and had went into a roll, strafing to the man’s right side. You still haven’t lost your ability to predict counters Robert thought as he watched the tumbling Monk land back on his own feet.

“So tell me Connor what was worse, Granny’s tortures or those of your old man?” Robert asked as he slipped another Shuriken into place in the palm of his uninjured arm.

“You will never be a good ninja if you broadcast your moves. Jitsu only works if you become unpredictable.” Connor spoke. Robert brought his arm forward snapping his wrist to toss the shuriken into the air. The Monk’s bow leaned towards the flying shuriken, remembering the flight pattern before letting the arrow go.

The arrow’s flight found the shuriken’s with a metal sounding thud. The collusion however did more than just stop the shruiken. The shaft’s angle turned the blade’s point in the opposite direction, the powerful push allowing it to catch the ninja unaware. With a groan, the shuriken slid into the elbow of the Ninja’s left arm, pushing itself completely through the limb.

Connor didn’t wait to see the strike. He never waited to see his shots; he had the confidence in his archery to know that he rarely missed. Instead, he ran towards Robert, who, at that very moment, stood there in shock by the shuriken’s attack. Connor brought an open palm to the man’s chin as soon as he was in reach.

The hand strike caught him full on, with no arms to block. The force caused Robert to fall hard on his back. He stayed there silent for a moment. His eyes blurring as he tried to keep conscious, before his eyelids finally drew over his eyes.

Connor watched him for another moment, before his head turned to Melanie. His almond shaped eyes now looked more like small cracks in his face, his eyes almost completely undetected due to his swollen face. “We should get out of here.” Connor spoke.

“Well, I am going to need some help. I don’t think I can stand on my own.”

“And you said I was the one with all the Buddhist parables.” Connor said jokingly as he walked towards her. “You’re going to fit in well at the Ashram.”

“Shut up and give me a hand.” Crackshot said, with a sly smile extending her hands towards the striding Monk.

Connor smiled as best he could as he bent forward and slid his fingers into hers. “Come on then, we got a long journey ahead of us.” With those words he lifted her into his arms and turned back toward the edge of the roof and leapt off, disappearing into the emerging dawn sky

Next Issue: Green Arrow returns to San Francisco, when he learns his mother has been hospitalized, and his Step Father Milo, seems to give him the only chance to save his mother. Oh right normal Justice League Universe.

03.23.2006

Story © 2006 Jae Lizhini and may not be reproduced without permission.