Marvel: The Infinite Crown

{Chapter: 142 - The Arrow's Edge And Working Together}

Oliver stood near the rooftop edge of the warehouse, his breathing steady, posture rigid. The shadows played across his armored suit—green leather stitched with reinforced plates, and the iconic emerald paint smeared across his eyes. It served no practical purpose, but Oliver knew the illusion was half the battle. The man beneath the hood was someone he had buried long ago. Out here, in this night, he wasn't Oliver Queen. He was the Arrow.

Behind him, Aiden leaned against a crate, arms crossed, watching with mild amusement as Oliver tightened his bracer straps. Aiden had opted to match the vibe tonight—a modernized urban hunter look with a collapsible composite bow, though he was far from needing it.

"Alright, so the green face-paint…" Aiden gestured with a grin. "Is that, like, for camouflage, or are we leaning into the whole 'urban jungle vigilante' aesthetic?"

Oliver didn't bother turning around. "It's for intimidation."

Aiden raised an eyebrow, amused. "Cool. So... intimidation and branding."

Oliver finally glanced back, dryly. "You done?"

"Not yet," Aiden replied with a slight smirk. He twirled an arrow in one hand like a drumstick. "But hey, while we're at it—when this is over, can you teach me the bow thing? I mean, you've got that Legolas vibe going. Could use that when I'm trying to impress girls."

Oliver's eyes narrowed under the hood, and for a split second, he looked like he might actually shoot him.

"You're built like a walking apocalypse and you need to impress women with a bow?"

Aiden shrugged innocently. "It's not about need. It's about style. And let's be real, nobody forgets a guy who can shoot a playing card off a bottle from two rooftops away."

Oliver shook his head with an exasperated sigh. "Let's move."

Before he could object further, Aiden raised a hand, a gentle pulse of energy cloaking both men. In an instant, the rooftop became a blur beneath them. With a surge of energy, they launched forward, cutting across the dark skyline of Star City like twin phantoms of the night.

---

Portside Warehouse District – Midnight

Somers was panicking.

His hands shook slightly as he stuffed a stack of documents and a gold-inlaid briefcase into a metal container. Around him, crates were already stacked—weapons, cash, fake IDs. His personal escape plan had been in place for years. He just never thought he'd need it.

"Is the boat ready?" he barked over his shoulder.

One of his men nodded, fumbling with a walkie-talkie. "Checking now. Wallace, do you copy?"

A crackle. Then static.

The man frowned and tried again, "Wallace? Come in."

A voice responded, distorted but calm. Too calm.

"He's not here anymore. But I am."

Somers dropped the suitcase. His blood ran cold. "...No."

Only one name echoed in his head.

The Hood.

"Move! Now!" he shouted, his voice cracking.

"Boss, we've got at least a dozen guys stationed outside—"

"Not enough," Somers snapped. "They're not even close to being enough."

---

CRASH!

A skylight shattered above as a black-and-green blur shot through the ceiling. Oliver landed in a crouch, immediately firing two arrows in rapid succession. One man collapsed with a grunt; another dropped his weapon before slumping to the ground.

Another guard raised a pistol—too slow.

BANG!

The bullet never reached its mark. It collided against a sudden barrier—a translucent green shield that shimmered in midair before ricocheting the bullet away.

Aiden dropped next to Oliver, grinning. "You're welcome."

"Thanks," Oliver replied, already nocking another arrow.

Behind them, chaos erupted. Gunfire, yells, crates crashing to the floor. But none of the gangsters were trained. They were thugs with handguns, not soldiers. Against two predators—one forged by tragedy, the other by something even darker—they didn't stand a chance.

Aiden, mostly amused, flicked a hand, and a crate flew off its hinges, knocking three men down like bowling pins. "I feel like I'm just babysitting here."

"Then babysit harder," Oliver growled, lunging forward.

In under two minutes, it was over.

Oliver caught a glimpse of Somers bolting out the back.

"Damn it!" he cursed. "He's getting away!"

He took off in pursuit.

Somers was fast—far faster than expected. Darting between the stacked containers like a rat in a maze, he knew the terrain well. Oliver's boots thundered after him, but distance grew. His anger mounted with every step. If Somers reached the boat, it was over.

Suddenly, a blur flew past.

Aiden.

Hovering slightly off the ground, Aiden sailed forward like a ghost and landed on a stack of crates, arms folded.

"I've got this," he called over his shoulder. "You go. Police are inbound."

Oliver hesitated as sirens began echoing nearby. "You better catch him."

Aiden smiled, and with a burst of speed, vanished down the alley.

---

Somers – Dockyard Escape Route

Somers panted, lungs burning, heart threatening to give out. The dock was only a few yards away. The yacht was there, the motor humming. Safety was close—so close.

He didn't notice the figure standing calmly in the middle of his path.

Not until it was too late.

Somers stumbled to a stop, nearly falling.

"You," he gasped.

Aiden raised an eyebrow, still calm. "You know, for a crime lord, you run like a bad politician caught with a burner phone."

Somers turned to bolt in the other direction.

Snap!

Dark green energy coiled from the air like a living rope, lashing around Somers's torso.

"You—!"

Somers had barely opened his mouth to speak before Aiden's energy construct lifted him into the air like a ragdoll, yanking him forward with force. His limbs flailed helplessly in midair. He had power, reputation, blood on his hands—but in that moment, all of it meant nothing.

Slap!

Slap!

Slap!

Three sharp, echoing strikes across his face. They came fast and deliberate, each one more humiliating than the last. The sound of skin meeting skin rang out in the silence, followed by the slow swell of bruising across his face. Blood welled up on the inside of his cheek.

"Look up at me," Aiden said, voice ice-cold, with a grim authority that didn't match his age. It wasn't just a demand—it was the verdict of a judge whose patience had run dry.

Somers blinked in confusion, stunned by the sudden abuse. But something deeper, more primal, kept him from protesting. He found his eyes drawn upward, compelled by something unnatural. He looked into Aiden's gaze—and immediately regretted it.

Within that single, focused stare, Somers saw nothing human. His pupils seemed to vanish, replaced with an endless void of churning emerald light, like the slow pull of a black hole wrapped in flame. It wasn't just looking at a person. It was staring into judgment itself.

And then Aiden calmly pulled out his phone and pressed record.

The older man's mouth hung open dumbly. His body stopped resisting the energy field, and his limbs fell limp, as though the very concept of resistance had been peeled from his mind.

Aiden's thumb pressed a final command into the ring, and the green energy dispersed. Somers collapsed onto the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.

His breath came in ragged gasps.

A new voice sliced through the stillness.

"Don't move!"

Aiden turned slowly, not alarmed, but mildly irritated—like someone being told to wait in line when they'd clearly prepaid. His eyes found a badge, a service pistol, and a man with weathered features carved from years of street work and moral compromise.

Quentin Larry Lance. Star City Police Department.

The barrel of Lance's pistol was unwavering. His voice was steady, but tension danced beneath the surface like a live wire. "You're the Green Lantern, right? I'm grateful—truly—for saving my daughter. But this isn't Gotham, or Metropolis and I don't care how shiny your ring is. You just assaulted a suspect in custody. I need you to come with me to the station."

Aiden stared at the man with cold curiosity, as if measuring what kind of person would actually point a gun at him—him, who had just neutralized a city-level gangster without breaking a sweat. Still, his voice remained controlled.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he said. "I didn't come here to hide who I am, but I also didn't come to waste time with paperwork and politics."

He hovered a few inches off the ground, then started rising. The air shimmered faintly around him. His green aura flared like heat haze.

"You better not—" Lance warned, hand tightening on the trigger. He didn't finish his sentence.

Crack!

Pah! Pah!

The gun fired twice. Both bullets froze midair—locked in place by an invisible telekinetic barrier.

The next moment, the sonic boom shattered windows across five blocks.

Aiden was gone.

All that remained was a rattled detective with ringing ears and a fast-drying sweat slicking his back. Quentin stared at the sky long after the green streak disappeared.

He couldn't explain it, but something about the kid's stare had made him feel like he was the criminal.

---

Back at the base beneath the foundry, Oliver Queen leaned over his terminal, tapping through police logs. When Aiden descended through the skylight with a gust of wind and faint emerald trails, Oliver stood up immediately.

"How did it go?" he asked, his voice tight with hope.

"He's in custody," Aiden said calmly, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder. "I delivered him personally. Alive."

"Good," Oliver said, nodding. "Though I'm worried. Without evidence, he might walk in a few hours."

"Not a problem," Aiden replied with a faint smirk. "Let's just say… I made sure the truth will speak for itself. You'll see it soon enough."

Oliver studied him, still trying to figure the Lantern out. He wasn't warm, awkward, or cheerful. He wasn't like Diggle, either—measured, military, cautious. Aiden felt more like a blade sheathed in green fire—focused, surgical, and capable of doing what others couldn't stomach.

Still, the guy had saved him. And now Somers was in cuffs.

The system's prompt rang again in Aiden's mind:

[Friendship Rate with Oliver Queen: +5%]

Aiden frowned inwardly. "Just five percent?" he muttered under his breath. "Guess I've still got work to do."

They parted ways shortly after. Oliver stayed behind to prepare for the next move. Aiden returned to the hotel, his thoughts shifting to Carol.

---

Carol was waiting in the hotel suite, perched elegantly on the edge of the bed in a navy-blue nightgown. Her laptop sat open beside her, but her eyes were on the man walking in.

"You're back," she said softly.

Aiden nodded, his face relaxing. "Everything's handled."

Carol gave him a genuine smile. "I listened to the news—everyone's talking about a mysterious light streaking across the sky. You're becoming kind of famous."

He shrugged. "Fame's just noise. Results matter more."

She walked over and gently took his arm. "There's something I need to tell you… and you can't get mad, okay?"

Aiden arched an eyebrow. "Go on."

"I—I have to leave," she said, pouting a little. "An emergency at the company. I need to fly back first thing tomorrow."

Aiden let out a low sigh but smiled. "Just that? I thought you were about to confess to dating Bruce Wayne or something."

Carol smacked him playfully on the chest. "Idiot. I wouldn't touch any men,forget about that playboy billionaire with a ten-foot pole."

He chuckled and stepped closer. "Then it's fine. I'll fly you back myself. After all, I'm leaving Star City in a few days anyway."

Carol hesitated, then looked up at him with a faint blush. "Actually… since we both have to go… why don't we… do something… before we leave?"

Aiden blinked, then smirked. "Are you sure? Because if we do something, there's no way you're getting on that flight tonight."

Her cheeks flushed red, but she didn't look away. "I-it's fine."

Aiden didn't need more encouragement. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers as he murmured, "Then let me show you just how fast I can bend time."

She giggled— excited—and let him guide her toward the bedroom.

Outside, the city rested in quiet turbulence, its shadows filled with secrets and heroes, with broken criminals and rising storms. But for now, for a single night, the chaos could wait.

******

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