Chapter 63: Some Shadows are Too Dark to Escape

The mansion's grand entrance was eerily quiet as Henry walked toward the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the vast space. His senses, ever attuned to danger, were on edge. He had sensed someone's presence before the knock—the unmistakable feeling of a former ally, someone who had once been part of his world. As he rounded the corner, the figure standing in the doorway wasn't one he had expected to see, at least not in this lifetime.

Slade Wilson.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Henry's hand instinctively went to his side, where the familiar weight of a weapon should have been, but in the grand halls of the Queen mansion, a weapon wasn't necessary. The person standing before him had once been a trusted ally, a teacher—a friend. And yet, now, Slade Wilson stood before him with a coldness in his eyes that spoke of years of betrayal, anger, and loss.

"Slade," Henry muttered, his voice low but laced with disbelief. The last time they had crossed paths, Slade had been a different man—before the rage, before the transformation into Deathstroke. Before Oliver's mistake had shattered their bond.

Slade's gaze was unwavering as he stepped further into the mansion, his presence filling the room with an almost palpable weight. His gaze locked onto Henry's, and despite the years and the distance, the connection between them—though strained—was still there.

"You look just like him," Slade said, his voice a low growl, though there was a hint of something almost nostalgic behind his words.

Henry's mind raced as he processed the implications of Slade's return. This was no ordinary man standing in front of him. This was Slade Wilson—the same Slade who had taught them how to fight, how to survive, how to navigate the dark and treacherous world they had found themselves in. He was the man who had once been as close as a brother to both Oliver and Henry, until everything had gone wrong. The bond they had shared had been shattered when Oliver's unintentional actions had led to the death of Shado—the woman Slade had loved.

It was that betrayal, that single moment, which had turned Slade into something darker. The anger that had consumed him had slowly morphed him into the cold, calculating villain known as Deathstroke, the very man who had made Oliver's life a living hell. And now, he was back. But why?

"Slade, you shouldn't be here," Henry said, his voice steady but firm. The old connection they had shared still lingered in the back of his mind, but his loyalty to Oliver ran deeper.

Slade smirked, as if he had been expecting Henry's reaction. "I think you know why I'm here."

Before Henry could respond, a flash of memories hit him, quick and harsh, like an explosion in his mind. The humid air of Lian Yu, the distant echo of waves crashing against the shore, the heat of the sun against his skin. Oliver, Slade, and he had been training together, learning how to survive the island, how to fight back against the odds. They had all been so young, so full of potential, before everything went wrong.

Flashback: Lian Yu, 6 years ago

The island was a jungle of chaos and danger, but for Oliver, Henry, and Slade, it was their training ground. Slade had been their mentor, a hardened soldier with a past full of demons, but he knew what it took to survive. He had taught them not just how to fight, but how to think, how to read a situation, how to stay alive when everything else was falling apart.

But it was also on this island where the most painful memory of their bond was forged—the moment everything fell apart.

"Shado," Slade's voice was gravelly as he caught sight of the woman standing in the distance, her back turned.

Henry and Oliver exchanged a look. Slade had been different around her—more vulnerable, softer, the walls around him down, at least when it came to her. She had been his anchor, the one person who had given him a sense of peace amidst the chaos of the island.

"You know, she doesn't belong here," Oliver said quietly, his eyes scanning the landscape. The tension between them all had always been there, subtle but undeniable. Oliver had never been one to show weakness, but Shado had been the one woman who had truly captured his heart.

"Shado's one of us," Slade shot back. "She's survived longer than any of you."

But despite Slade's insistence, there was an undercurrent of tension in the air—one that had been building for days, fueled by the secrets they hadn't been able to share with each other. Secrets that Oliver had kept from Slade—secrets that Henry had tried to protect.

The explosion that changed everything came swiftly. Oliver, in a desperate attempt to protect Shado, made a split-second decision that led to her death. The sound of the gunshot still rang in Henry's ears. The look on Slade's face—the shock, the disbelief—was forever etched in his memory.

Oliver's mistake had shattered their bond. The next few days were a blur of survival, of violence, of unspoken words. And then, Slade was gone. He had vanished into the jungle, his heart twisted with rage and betrayal.

End of Flashback

Henry blinked, shaking the memory from his mind. The echo of that moment—the death of Shado, the fracture of their brotherhood—felt like a weight on his chest. He could still feel the tension in the air when he looked at Slade. But now, things were different.

"Slade, this is over," Henry said, his voice colder now, his stance ready. "You've made your choices, just as Oliver did. What's left between us is nothing but dust."

Slade's eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "It's never over, Henry. Not for me. Not after what you did. What Oliver did."

Henry's heart clenched as Slade's words hit their mark. The betrayal was still fresh, even after all these years, and Slade wasn't going to let them forget it. He was Deathstroke now—the hunter, the killer, the embodiment of vengeance. And his path led him straight to Oliver and the Queen family.

"I'm not here to fight you," Slade continued, his voice dripping with malice. "But I will destroy everything you've built. Starting with Oliver."

Henry's blood ran cold at the mention of Oliver's name. This wasn't just a confrontation—it was a declaration of war.

Before Henry could respond, Slade moved, his body fluid and deadly, like a predator circling its prey. In a flash, Henry was already in motion, his instincts honed by years of combat with the man in front of him. They had once fought side by side, but now, they were enemies—bitter, irrevocable enemies.

The battle had only just begun.