In the space of a heartbeat, Jane dropped to a crouch, her right arm raised, a four-foot lance of ice forming in her crackling hand. Before her opponents could take so much as a single step she launched, up off her knees, hurtling the spear right and wide – as an instant later a wall of noise, a wave of sonic death blasted from Odette. Jane stumbled, clutching her ears, but an instant later the screaming wavered as Odette flinched, paling as the ice whistled an inch from her cheek, recoiling just in time, her eyes turning, following the spike as it flew, barely missed-

Except Jane hadn’t missed. And that wasn’t just ice.

With a deafening crack the lance exploded an inch from Odette’s head, the lightning trapped inside blasting out, exploding in a thousand shards of frozen glass. Odette screamed, so loud the very Earth seemed to tremble, and fell to the ground, her voice pitching and rending wildly around Jane, the crowd, her own team, bloody hands clutching her shredded face.

One down.

Jane staggered to her feet, her head swimming, ringing in her ears. She could see her two remaining opponents likewise stumbling, reeling from the unexpected aural assault – their heads turning to glance at Odette’s fallen, wailing form, struggling to process the loss of a teammate barely a second into the fight. But an instant later, they recovered from the shock. Before she could react, the punk’s coat rustled, and Jane barely had time to throw up a wall of flames as something hissed through the air towards her. For a second, she thought she was safe – but then a searing, burning pain shot through her shoulder and she buckled, crying out in agony. Jane glanced down to see a puddle of boiling, bubbling metal splashed right below her collarbone – superheated, melted by her own protective fire, sizzling the flesh beneath. She swore, freezing her searing shoulder with her left hand and hurling bursts of lightning with her right, blasting the metal shards out of the air as they hurtled out of the punk’s coat towards her – but instead of dropping to the ground, the blades turned and shot back towards her, around and behind, spinning, slicing towards her neck. Jane gritted her teeth and pushed out a field of electricity, encasing herself in lightning an instant before the shards flew at her from every direction, slamming into barrier. Magnetic or telekinetic, she hissed silently, they were either magnetic or telekinetic – but a second later she felt an invisible hand clench around her neck, oblivious to her barrier, and Jane knew the answer. She spluttered, choking, as unseen force lifted her up into the air, her toes dangling an inch from the ground, squeezing the life from her throat. With her remaining good arm, Jane punched a bolt of lightning out through the barrier and towards the telekinetic and the pressure around her neck momentarily relaxed as the punk kid rolled out of the way – but something else was wrong. As she gulped in air, the electricity around her flickered and wavered, sweat beading on her face as the effort of maintaining the barrier doubled, tripled – her powers suddenly sagging, lethargic, heavy and clumsy. The shards slammed back into the lightning dome and Jane fell to one knee, the weight closing in around her – and then through a flickering, instant’s gap in the barrier, she saw. Standing discreet, unmoving, staring at her, his face hard – the Egyptian man. His eyes focused, his hand stretched out. The electric field around her sagged.

Neutraliser. He was a neutraliser.

She needed to end this, now.

With a mangled shout Jane pushed to her feet, blasting the bubble of lightning outwards, releasing a huge pulse of energy which rushed through her opponents and slammed into the Arena walls. The telekinetic punk dived left, their shards flying back, fanning out in a protective wall around the two of them as the Egyptian man shielded his face with his hands – but the wave washed harmlessly over them, leaving nothing more than a strange tingle. The pair exchanged glances, then grins – thinking the combined assault of their powers had left Jane unable to muster up more than a static pulse.

Except that pulse had been deliberate.

Jane didn’t know the science of electromagnetism. She’d never learnt the math, couldn’t explain how it worked. All she knew was positively charged attracted negatively charged – and the electromagnetic pulse she’d just unleashed had been very, very positive. And it’d hyper-charged every piece of metal it’d touched.

Including the many, many piercings the telekinetic had so kindly left in their flesh.

Jane ran towards them, roaring as she forced electricity through the metal on her shoulder, the skin around it burning, surging with negative charge – and in an instant, time seemed to slow. Jane felt herself lurch off her feet, rocketing forward as the charges locked, as the magnetism took hold – saw the crowd watching her, flying towards the punk as they hurtled, screaming, towards her. Halfway across the ring, she squeezed her shoulder, pulsing another current through the metal, and suddenly the pull stopped – but the momentum didn’t. Jane spun, rolled her shoulder flat, a fraction of a second before the metal shards grazed harmlessly past her, and then she threw that same shoulder forward, her arm held out, as the wide-eyed telekinetic’s body rushed over to meet her, blood streaming from their piercings, unable to move, unable to escape.

“OOMF!” The crook of Jane’s arm slammed hard into the punk’s throat, and she coat-hangered their limp, shuddering body down, cracking the stone. The crowd winced – and the telekinetic gurgled, fingers scrabbling at their crushed windpipe. Their body shuddered, eyes rolling back into their head as a healer rushed onto the stage. Jane breathed heavy, her arm aching, her shoulder screaming, feeling blood trickling from her knees where she’d hit the ground – and slowly, she got back up.

Two down.

The Arena roared.

Jane’s eyes found the neutraliser – the tall, quiet Egyptian man in dark track pants and an unassuming white shirt that could not disguise his muscle. He stared back, his mouth a hard line. If seeing Jane take down other two scared him, it didn’t show. Instead, he appeared resigned, resolute, as if he’d always known it would come down to this. He strode slowly towards the centre of the square, stopping and standing silently only a few feet away from the empath. A hush fell over the crowd.

Jane didn’t need to feel the fizzling sparks in left hand or the spluttering, dying flames in her right to know that her powers were officially stifled. The Egyptian man’s eyes still stared into her, through her, unwavering, unblinking, like they had the entire time. Neutralising was like extinguishing a fire – at first the fire fought but inevitably it died, succumbed to the relentless, smothering oppression. This neutraliser had had time to channel his ability onto Jane and now the window where she could use her powers was closed. She was completely suppressed.

Neutralisers weren’t like other people. They didn’t fight using their powers – they used their powers and then they fought. Level the playing field and then have backup step in, or take them down yourself the old-fashioned way. The way this guy strode into the centre of the ring, confident and self-assured with both his teammates taking dirt naps, made Jane guess it was the latter. One look at the way he stood and you could tell he was a fighter. Not just any fighter. He was an Acolyte. The best of the best.

“What’s your name?” she asked him.

“Anubis,” he replied.

She nodded. “Jane.”

He nodded back. “Well met.”

And without another word they charged.

Anubis was half a foot taller than her, with greater reach and at least twenty pounds more muscle. Jane was tired and powerless, with one arm visibly injured. He’d probably trained in martial arts for years with a host of seasoned tutors. She’d taught herself to punch by watching re-runs of The Karate Kid. He had no weaknesses she could see and she had no advantages she knew.

Except that she was Jane Walker, and she’d been fighting for her life since she was eleven. And she had no intention of fighting fair.

The instant before they connected Jane screamed – a piercing, blood-curdling wail that made Anubis instinctively flinch just long enough for her to land the first hit, a staggering, crushing hook. The neutraliser stumbled back, recovering quickly, lashing out with a series of blows which Jane blocked, feeling the force of his fists raising bruises on her arms. She lashed out again, punching hard at his head, but this time Anubis was ready, and swatted her away, her blows striking only air. He returned fire, punching once, twice, three times as Jane ducked and wove and then before she could gather her thoughts he kicked, a savage knee to her ribcage, and it was all Jane could do to spin out of the way a fraction of a second before it connected, panting hard. He was fast – so fast Jane could barely keep up, let alone properly attack. Her mutilated shoulder screamed in agony every time she forced it to move – but with the pain came sudden inspiration. She winced and whimpered, staggering backwards, clutching at her arm, held limply by her side – she saw Anubis’s eyes flash, saw him see the perceived weakness, and within a fraction of a second he charged, swinging his left leg up in a high kick towards Jane’s injured right side. The empath’s eyes narrowed and she swung her damaged arm up, crying out as it blocked the kick, feeling something break – but at the same time ripping her own knee up, slamming it with every ounce of force she had straight between Anubis’s legs. The neutraliser howled and fell to the ground, clutching his groin, and that was all Jane needed. She leapt on top of him, landing a crushing knee into the Egyptian’s guts, punching, pummelling him in the side of the head with her left hand, her right hanging limp, genuinely broken and useless now. Again and again and again she struck and when Anubis tried to lift his hands to protect his face she kneed again between his legs – he screamed, lashing out blindly, but Jane leant back, dodging the blow and then threw herself forward twice as hard, slamming her forehead into his nose, shattering it in a fountain of blood. The neutraliser gave a primal, gurgling roar as she struck, again and again, and somehow, somehow, managed to grab her working hand with one of his, but Jane snarled and bit hard into his wrist, ripping and savaging the flesh with her teeth until the shrieking man let go. She kneed him in the guts, clawed at his eyes, pummelled his throat, until finally, Anubis’s hand tapped the stone beside her and a small, whimpering word crawled its way from his bloodied mouth.

“Yield.”

Jane’s fist froze mid-blow. Below her, the neutraliser gazed up at her through broken, swollen eyes.

“Yield,” he whispered again, the sound gargling in his throat, “Yield.” Slowly, Jane lowered her fist – and then she pushed, panting, every joint agony, up off him, back onto her feet. She stepped backwards, stumbling, her right arm hanging useless by her side. The sound of bone striking flesh, of ringing in her head and blood rushing through her ears, slowly gave way to the real world. The Arena was silent. Dead silent. As she staggered backwards, as she deliriously steadied herself, as her legs threatened to give out; as healers rushed the stage towards Anubis, as she glanced upwards, as she shielded her eyes from the world, which seemed suddenly so deafeningly silent, so blindingly bright; as the whole Academy looked on with bated breath – no one made a single noise.

For a moment, the world was frozen.

And then somebody clapped.

Somebody, then two somebodies, then three, then more. Slowly, like the breaking of rain, applause spread throughout the stands, until it was everywhere, everyone, the entire Academy applauding her, for her, as if in a dream. It was not loving – no cheering, no hysteria, no joy – but it was still there, still solid, still real. Some maybe begrudging, some insincere, but more rising to their feet, applauding, paying genuinely that respect which had been earned. Bruised and beaten, bloodied and exhausted, her body a mess and one arm hanging broken at her side, Jane Walker suddenly felt huge, felt whole, every fibre in her body trembling in time with the rushing, thunderous applause. She saw Wally putting his fingers to his lips, his lone whistle drowned out amongst the noise of the crowd. She saw Winters, nodding appreciatively and clapping harder than anyone. She even saw James Conrad, propped up against a wall as healers shimmered his wounds, slapping his huge hands together and nodding at her, his gaze steady, without a trace of resentment – as if to recognise, as if to simply say “Well done.”

And then, as the strangest feeling washed over her, Jane glanced up into the open sky – in time to watch as a shining teardrop fell from the sun. Without warning, without fanfare, unseen by the crowd, the tiny, glinting star broke from the heavens, falling down to Earth. To her. She watched it fall and then somehow, she knew not how – through her blurred vision, her haze of pain – as if by instinct, as if she’d always known, Jane held out the hand of her one good arm and felt something heavy, something no bigger than a silver dollar, drop quietly, perfectly into her palm.

It was a badge.

A silver eagle, clutching an olive wreath.

The symbol of the Legion of Heroes.

Jane looked up into the heavens, where a distant, white gold figure fluttered high above, shining, flanked by the sun – unnoticed, unannounced, his smile gleaming in the morning light.

And in that moment – that single, glorious moment – Jane thought, she could have died.

As she limped from the stage, healers rushing to her side, the world roaring around her, the silver eagle clasped tightly, secretly in her palm, Jane knew that if she died, right now, it would be okay. It would be worth it – it would all be worth it – for this single, shining moment. Because she’d done it. She’d made it.

And she was complete.

In her pain, in her elation, in her moment of triumph, only one tiny thing nagged at the back of Jane’s head, an errant thought, a face she hadn’t seen. She glanced over her shoulder as a healer hurried beside her, holding her arm, guiding and supporting as she moved off the stage, the sound of applause still ringing in her ears – but she couldn’t see him. Her eyes scanned high and low, across the resonant crowd, and though she wasn’t supposed to care, though she supposed it didn’t matter, tired and injured as she was, she still couldn’t help but let it bother her, couldn’t help but feel a small tinge of disappointment in her otherwise euphoric state, a tiny black stain on a shining, golden sea–

Where was Matt?