Harm rushed him first.
Fast.
Too fast.
Roy stepped inside the charge instead of back, pivoting off his right foot and driving a left hook toward Harm's jaw.
Harm shifted his weight to his rear leg and brought his forearm up, catching the punch. The impact still snapped his head slightly from the force.
Roy followed immediately—right elbow toward the temple.
Harm leaned back just enough for it to graze past his face, then shoved Roy's shoulder with both hands.
Roy slid back two steps, boots digging into dirt.
Harm closed the gap again, swinging a straight punch with enhanced strength.
Roy slipped left, the fist grazing his ear, and hammered a knee into Harm's ribs.
Harm absorbed it, muscles tightening, then brought his forearm down in a crude downward strike.
Roy caught the arm mid-swing with his cybernetic hand, twisted, and stepped behind him—attempting a shoulder lock.
Harm reacted on instinct, ripping his arm free with brute force and spinning with a backfist.
Roy ducked under it and drove a short right into Harm's solar plexus.
Harm barely flinched.
He watched Roy's shoulders. His hips. Learning.
Roy saw it.
"Don't study me," he muttered, and launched a rapid combination—left jab, right cross, spinning back kick.
Harm blocked the jab, parried the cross awkwardly, and took the kick on his thigh, skidding back a foot.
Then he countered—faster this time.
A straight punch toward Roy's face.
Roy brought up his metal forearm to shield. The hit sent a shock through the servos and shoved him back several feet.
Stronger.
Harm stepped in, attempting a grab.
Roy snapped a headbutt into Harm's nose.
Bone cracked.
Harm stumbled half a step, more surprised than hurt.
Roy didn't wait. He grabbed Harm's wrist, yanked him forward, and slammed a mechanical elbow across his cheek.
Harm twisted free again, adapting, then swept Roy's legs with raw speed.
Roy hit the ground hard.
Harm lunged to pin him—
Roy rolled, planted his palm, and kip-upped back to his feet.
"Alright," Roy breathed.
His arm shifted.
Plates folded and locked. The barrel extended.
Harm rushed him again.
Too late.
Roy jammed the cannon forward and fired point-blank.
A concentrated red beam blasted into Harm's face.
The impact lifted him off his feet and hurled him backward.
He crashed through the brick wall of his house in a shower of debris, disappearing inside with a thunderous impact.
For good measure, Arsenal fired several foam bolts into the wreckage where Harm had crashed, the expanding compound rapidly filling the hole in the side of the house and hardening around him.
"That should do it," Roy muttered, finally allowing himself a breath.
Without warning, the sword tore free from the ground behind him and shot through the air like a guided missile. It pierced straight into the foam mass.
A pulse of yellow light erupted—
The foam exploded outward in all directions.
Harm stepped through the debris completely unharmed, his face twisted in a furious grimace. Before Roy could react, Harm raised the sword and unleashed a concentrated beam of yellow energy.
It hit Roy square in the chest.
Pain unlike anything he'd ever felt tore through him as his body lifted helplessly into the air. Crackling magical energy coursed through his nerves, locking his muscles in place while his own scream echoed in his ears.
Then the beam cut off.
Roy dropped hard onto the dirt, gasping.
Through blurred vision, he saw Harm striding toward him with the sword raised high, clearly intending to end it—
A white blur slammed into Harm from the side.
The impact sent both of them crashing back through the already-damaged house in an explosion of splintered wood. Roy almost felt bad for the property damage.
Match rose from the wreckage.
The call had come in clutch. Everyone else had been busy having fun, but Match—stuck enduring endless tests at S.T.A.R. Labs—had probably welcomed the excuse to leave.
Roy forced himself upright just in time to see Match grappling with Harm. The Kryptonian clone bore down with raw strength, but Harm braced the sword horizontally between them, using it like a lever. With every passing second, it seemed as though power was feeding into him from the blade.
Even Match was beginning to strain.
"How did Greta die?!" Roy shouted.
"By Harm's dagger," Harm ground out through clenched teeth. "She was the only thing Harm ever loved. That is why she had to die. Harm's heart had to be pure. Greta was cut out—excised like an infection."
Match's eyes flared with anger at the words, and he shifted to throw a punch instead of maintaining pressure.
That moment of imbalance was all Harm needed.
Moving faster than he had at any point in the fight, Harm drove the sword forward.
The blade pierced straight through Match's chest and emerged from his back.
Roy froze.
Harm ripped the sword free and kicked Match off it, sending him crashing through the backyard fence and into the street.
"Match!" Roy shouted.
He pushed his laser cannon into overdrive.
Warning lights flared inside his arm.
He ignored them and fired.
A massive red beam forced Harm to block. The sword absorbed the blast, but Harm was driven backward inch by inch.
Roy smelled metal and flesh burning.
Then Harm gasped.
Behind him, Secret rose from her grave.
"Ugh. What manner of illusion is this?" Harm snapped.
"You asked how I found this place," Roy called. "Your secret's out."
"No. Harm's heart is pure."
But his voice lacked certainty now.
As Harm weakened, Roy's cannon began failing. The beam flickered, shrinking as the barrel glowed white-hot.
"Harm's not sorry," he snarled, pushing forward as the laser sputtered. "I'm not!"
Secret walked calmly forward, phasing through Roy and through the fading beam as if neither existed.
Roy's cannon died completely. His arm sagged, molten and useless.
Harm swung the sword at her in frustration.
It passed harmlessly through her form.
Secret stepped closer and gently pressed her hand into his chest.
Her arm phased inside him—and when she withdrew it, she held a glowing yellow orb.
The purity of his heart.
The Sword of Beowulf slipped from Harm's grasp and flew back into its strange sheath on its own.
Harm stared at his empty hands in horror.
Roy didn't hesitate. He rushed forward and drove a brutal uppercut into Harm's jaw with his remaining good arm, lifting him slightly off the ground before he collapsed unconscious into the dirt.
Roy immediately ran to Match.
Blood soaked through the white suit.
He tore off his own shirt and pressed it hard against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. His League comm had fried while Harm electrocuted him, and his arm—the one that could've signaled for help—was now nothing more than twisted scrap.
If he left to find a phone, Match might bleed out.
"You wouldn't happen to have a phone?" Roy asked Secret desperately.
She gave him an apologetic look and shook her head.
"Secret."
A ripple of light appeared beside them.
A cloaked woman manifested as though stepping out of thin air. Without a word, she knelt beside Match and produced a skull with three glowing red eyes. Yellow magic flowed from Match's wound into the skull, the bleeding slowing almost immediately.
The torn flesh began knitting itself closed.
When she finished, she rose and glanced once at the unconscious Harm and the fallen sword, her expression unreadable.
She turned to leave, her form already beginning to fade.
"Wait," Roy called out. "Thanks—but who are you? Can I at least get a name?"
She looked back, purple hair framing red facial markings.
"Pandora."
Then she vanished.
Roy stared at the empty space.
He looked at Secret, equally stunned.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Next time I'm going to the party."
***
As the police arrived at the scene, Roy promised Secret he would arrange a proper burial for her. She smiled softly before sinking back into her grave.
Moments later, a Boom Tube snapped open nearby.
Nova stepped through.
Roy hadn't wanted to escalate this with the Team and the League. If anyone could keep things quiet—and take care of Match—it was his brother.
"Hope I wasn't interrupting anything," Roy said dryly.
"Nah," Nova replied. "The party was getting boring. Too many weirdos."
He knelt beside Match and examined the now closed wound.
"That guy did this?" Nova asked, nodding toward Harm being taken into custody.
"Yeah. Magic sword. Then someone named Pandora showed up, healed him, and dipped."
"Pandora…" Nova repeated thoughtfully.
He lifted Match onto his back with ease.
"He'll be fine. Just lost blood. I'll help him recover. And I'll get you an upgraded arm tomorrow."
Then Roy was surrounded by a golden glow as he felt his bruises and burns disappear.
A new Boom Tube opened.
Before stepping through, Nova added, "Good work."
Then he was gone.
"Damn. I have to walk 20 minutes to the nearest Zeta tube with my bike destroyed."