I have sent an army to kill you. the letter said in part.
Robert thought Slade might have been making one of his rare jests as the older man prepared him for his final test. Both Slade and Mother were notoriously silent on the matter of what, exactly, the test was. Robert had been taught to kill, and he'd succeeded at every lesson given to him thus far. He was smart, silent, strong, and observant. He learned quickly, and what he did not know immediately, he found out as soon as possible.
When Slade told him that the final test would begin at nightfall, Robert willed himself to sleep, wanting to be awake the moment Slade came for him. As it was, he fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of his mother's curt nod of approval, and Slade's more enthusiastic smile when he succeeded at his tasks. He longed to make them proud of him, to show them that he was more than a mistake or an inconvenient truth.
The arrow that embedded itself in the wall inches above his face was the first thing to wake him. The first eight words printed on the note brought him fully to life in an instant. The last words on the letter left him hollow, cold, but filled with purpose.
Survive the night, and you will have learned all that we can teach you. If you die, you were never worthy in the first place.
Killing the first Yakuza who came into his room was easy, as was the one after him, and the ones after them.
Eighteen hours later, he was sore, battered, and tired, but he knew to give into any of these was to consign himself to death. He now crept about the small compound he'd known for the whole of his life in the gear of his enemies, seeking to consign others to the fate intended for him. Each time he loosed an arrow with his bow, he did not consider that he would miss, or what would happen if he did. He fired, watched a man die, and moved forward, ever forward. He does not mourn the passing of these Yakuza anymore than he did the first one he'd ever slain. These people are cowards, villains and brigands, all, and he does the world a favor by removing them from it.
He slips into the shadows, moving on to find the leader of this band and cut the head from the snake.
---Three hours later---
The poison burns in his veins and he is losing sight in one eye, but Robert Queen does not stop. The moment he does, the poison will slow his heartbeat down to nothing, and he will die. Luckily, this not hard for him to do; the arrows of his enemy, while not fired in multiple barrages, are timed precisely enough to keep his head down and keep him from mounting a defense. He creeps about the kitchen that he's known since his youth, looking for a way past his enemy to freedom.
He has killed Domingo, Taryx, Deadshot and Pistolera. He's survived Cheshire's treachery, and is currently surviving her poison, but his test now is to obtain the antidote from the leader of these murderers. The one who calls himself 'The Magician'.
Merlyn.
Their battle is furious, but Robert loses ground with every passing moment. The poison burns in his veins, constricting his chest and driving the air from his lungs. He tries to calm himself, to catch his breath, but he's never been this close to dying before. He cannot die now, not like this. He cannot be found wanting, unworthy of his father's name and mantle. Unworthy of his mother's teachings, and unworthy of Slade's pride.
The rage floods his mind with new purpose, granting him a brief moment of clarity he did not have before. This will be over in one shot, either way. The only question is whose shot it will be.
He hears his enemy's footsteps around the corner, and closes his eyes, focusing his will for this last act of defiance. He's spent his life preparing for this single moment in time, living through the hell of ten-thousand pain-carved days and nights to get to this place and this night. He is more than the son of the Green Arrow and Shado, more than the apprentice of Deathstroke, and more than one of the world's deadliest archers.
Tonight, it is his night, his moon: The Hunter's Moon. He's been abandoned by the only family he's ever known, but in exchange, his prey has come to him.
Robert Queen stands from his hiding spot, takes aim, and lets his last arrow fly.
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