Marvel: The Infinite Crown

{Chapter: 130 - Blood And Challenge}

Oliver stood stiff, lips drawn into a hard line, guilt etched into his face like a scar.

Tommy just watched, his usual cocky grin subdued, clearly knowing he was the odd one out. The third wheel. The ghost in the machine.

A moment later, Laurel turned on her heel and walked off into the city, her heels clicking against the pavement. The two men were left alone, and though Aiden couldn't hear their exchange, body language said enough. Oliver walked forward, and Tommy—after an awkward pause—reluctantly followed.

They were heading into an alleyway that led to a parking structure. Aiden didn't follow. He didn't need to. Instead, he leaned casually against the wall, still sipping, still observing. Something didn't feel right.

And then—it happened.

The screech of tires. A dark van came tearing into the alleyway like a wolf lunging for its prey.

Gunfire erupted—short bursts that echoed through the narrow passage. Aiden dropped his coffee, the cup rolling across the sidewalk, forgotten.

In an instant, his posture changed. The casual stance melted into sharp focus. He stepped out of the pedestrian path and, when the coast was clear, his body lifted effortlessly off the ground. Cloaked in a shimmer of green energy, he rose into the air and took off after the van.

He followed from above, high enough to remain unseen, low enough to track their every turn. The vehicle weaved through backstreets, avoiding major roads, as if it had driven this route a hundred times before. Eventually, it pulled into a fenced-off property on the industrial outskirts of Star City—an abandoned factory surrounded by rusting metal and forgotten machinery.

Aiden hovered for a moment, scanning the area. The van's side door slid open, and masked figures stepped out, guns drawn, dragging two limp bodies from within.

Oliver and Tommy.

They were unconscious—likely drugged or hit with something heavy. The group moved quickly, forcing them inside the derelict building.

Aiden's eyes narrowed. "This is getting somewhere…"

He spotted a shattered window on the second floor and floated up silently, phasing slightly through the frame to avoid any sound. From his perch, he had a perfect view of the room below—a cold, dark chamber, where Oliver was now tied to a chair in the center, his hands bound tightly behind his back. Tommy lay sprawled on the ground beside him, still motionless.

A man wearing a skull mask stepped forward, flanked by several armed thugs. He cracked his knuckles and walked up to Oliver.

"Tsk tsk… what a mess," Aiden muttered under his breath. "No hospitality at all."

He wasn't planning to intervene—yet. After all, Oliver Queen was no ordinary hostage. Aiden knew exactly who he was dealing with. This was the man who would one day become the Green Arrow. Vigilante. Hero. Symbol.

And right now, he was just getting started.

The red skull-masked man raised a gloved fist and delivered a harsh punch across Oliver's face, snapping him awake with brutal efficiency. Oliver groaned but stayed silent, his jaw tightening as blood trickled from his lip.

"Oliver Queen," the man said darkly, pulling out an electric baton. "Your father was in an accident. Is he still alive?"

Oliver's eyes, though dazed, scanned the room in a heartbeat—counting heads, assessing weapons, calculating exits.

"I asked you a question," the masked man growled, jamming the baton against Oliver's chest. Electricity surged. Oliver's body convulsed, his teeth clenched in pain.

Aiden flinched slightly. "Brutal."

The skull-mask leaned in, his tone now almost desperate. "Did he tell you something before he died? Anything?"

Another zap. Another scream.

For a moment, there was only the sound of Oliver's ragged breathing.

Then—he looked up.

And smiled.

"Yes," he rasped. "He told me… I should kill you."

Aiden couldn't help but let out a low chuckle. "Now that's the Oliver Queen I was waiting for."

Down below, the masked man growled and stepped back. Oliver's eyes flicked toward Tommy—still unconscious—and then returned to his captors. His breathing evened out. His back straightened. He was about to strike.

The red skull-masked man sneered down at the bound figure before him. Despite Oliver's bruised face and the restraints pinning him to the chair, his piercing green eyes stared back with quiet defiance. There was something ancient in that look—calculated, cold, and dangerously familiar. A look that once belonged to a playboy billionaire, now reborn as something much more formidable.

"Are you delusional?" the masked man laughed, circling Oliver like a vulture around its prey. "You're tied to a chair, Queen. Do you really think you're in control here?"

Oliver didn't blink. Slowly, deliberately, he flexed his wrists. With a subtle twist, the thick ropes binding him began to slip. The masked man's eyes widened.

"Am I?"

The ropes fell to the floor in one smooth motion as Oliver stood. The men in the room froze, their bravado instantly shattered.

"H-How the hell is that possible?!" the skull-masked man shouted, stumbling backward.

Before they could raise their weapons, Oliver moved.

In one swift motion, he grabbed the wooden chair he had been sitting on and slammed it against the skull-masked man's head. Splinters flew. The assailant crumpled with a grunt. Oliver didn't waste time. He pivoted, disarming another man with a precise kick, and grabbed the fallen electric baton. With a crackle of energy, he struck down a second gunman, then ducked behind a stack of crates as bullets ripped through the air.

One of the thugs emptied his clip wildly, bullets pinging off rusted metal. The moment the chamber clicked dry, Oliver moved like a shadow. He sprinted across the room, closed the distance in seconds, and leapt, vaulting off a crate. He slammed into the gunman and knocked him to the ground with brutal force. The man scrambled to escape, adrenaline kicking in, but Oliver was on him in an instant.

Aiden, watching from a shattered window above, sipped the last of his lukewarm coffee and let out a quiet hum. "His technique's refined. Body control—excellent. Environment awareness—sharp. For someone without any powers, he's doing quite well."

Aiden's sharp gaze followed Oliver as he pursued the retreating thug out of the factory and into the ruined industrial compound outside. The night sky was painted a stormy shade of grey, illuminated only by distant street lamps and the occasional muzzle flash.

"Still… this isn't enough. Not yet. Where's the man who spent five years in hell?" Aiden muttered, standing up as he conjured his sleek black battlesuit out of swirling energy.

---

Outside, the factory echoed with the staccato of gunfire and the heavy thud of boots on gravel. Oliver darted through the shadows like a phantom, barely making a sound. His physicality was unmatched—graceful, lethal, deliberate. He scaled a rusted scaffolding with the agility of a parkour expert and dropped down silently onto his prey.

The thug didn't even hear him coming.

The man turned, pale and shaking. "Don't… don't kill me…"

Oliver's jaw tightened, his voice flat and merciless. "You know too much."

Crack!

With a twist of his hands, he snapped the man's neck cleanly. The body slumped to the ground, and Oliver slowly lowered it with a modicum of care—cold efficiency honed by years of survival.

Turning, he moved quickly to return to the factory. He needed to check on Tommy.

But when he re-entered the dimly lit room, he froze.

There, lounging comfortably in a chair once occupied by a captor, sat a man dressed in a black suit, no mask, sipping casually from a new cup of steaming coffee. His handsome face was illuminated in the dim light, and a slow, amused smile spread across his lips as he looked at Oliver.

"Well, well. That was quite the show," Aiden said, swirling his coffee. "You've got style. Brutal, focused… precise. I can see why people are drawn to you. But now I have to ask…"

He leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Since I now know your secret… will you kill me too?"

Oliver narrowed his eyes, his body instantly tensing for combat. "Who are you?" His voice was a gravelly warning, the same tone he used as the Hood in Starling City.

Aiden chuckled and set the cup down on a nearby crate. "Wouldn't you like to know? Tell you what: if you can beat me, I'll tell you everything."

"Don't play games with me."

"I'm not. I just appreciate strength—and your type of justice. I've seen a lot of people put on masks and pretend to be heroes. You? You became one by losing everything."

*****

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