Multiverse: Deathstroke

Chapter 118: Ch.117 Battlefield

The Justice League and the Avengers next door really have different styles. Before entering the battlefield, the Avengers always have a rallying cry. Captain America likes to shout, "Avengers, assemble!" whereas Batman\'s usual approach is to quietly murmur something like "Let\'s go" or "Begin the operation" after setting everything in motion.

Thinking about these differences, Su Ming took a deep breath, adjusted his phone\'s location information to "ready to send," and tucked it away in his pouch. He then began advancing toward the front line. As expected, many enemies targeted him immediately.

"Live ammo, no need to dodge—this punch is aiming for my head. After dodging, counter with a backhand slash to cut off his leg\'s energy beam. Use the Godkiller to morph into a mirror shield and reflect the attack back."

He quickly plunged into the crowd. Attacks of all kinds came at him from every direction, but his movements were swift, and his mind remained calm, cycling through various countermeasures in his head.

It was like throwing a stone into the ocean—blood and dismembered limbs flew into the air around Su Ming, staining the black rocks beneath him red.

These otherworldly villains were somewhat recognizable, while others were impossible to identify. But with his reinforced steel-like body and enhanced healing abilities, coupled with balanced physical and magical defenses on his armor and the Nth Metal-coated Nightblade in his hand, these villains—though stronger than mere grunts—were not enough to stop his advance.

He fought his way upstream through the sea of enemies, constantly moving closer to The Devastator under Clark\'s cover.

Finally, he reached his target.

Perhaps due to the presence of Doomsday\'s spores, the other villains kept a certain distance from The Devastator, creating a small empty zone around him.

Covered in spikes, The Devastator resembled a massive, walking porcupine, but his face was fully transformed into that of a bat. Standing about four meters tall, one of his arms was thicker than Su Ming\'s entire body.

Fragments of a Batsuit still clung to his chest, like rags fluttering in the wind. He came from Earth -1, the strongest physically among all the Nightmare Batmen, and thanks to the Doomsday virus, he was nearly immortal.

Doomsday could revive infinitely, growing stronger each time, and the method that killed him last would no longer work.

On Earth -1, Superman was the first to go mad. Clark killed his wife and child, leaving Batman feeling betrayed, convinced that Kryptonians were monsters.

He went to Metropolis to fight Superman, but Kryptonite weapons proved ineffective, and Superman even severed one of his arms with heat vision.

Left with no choice, that Bruce injected himself with the Doomsday virus. Anger and power consumed him in an instant.

Superman would never harm humanity again—the Devastator crushed him with just one punch, one grab, and one kick. That Superman was utterly destroyed.

The Batman Who Laughs suddenly appeared, telling him that many worlds still had fools who believed in Superman.

The Devastator needed to kill more Supermen to vent his frustration over being deceived, so he joined the Dark Knights.

Upon reaching Prime Earth, he had casually tossed Lobo into the sun with little effort. He had also defeated many powerful superheroes, hanging their bodies on the Tuning Fork.

Now, encountering Su Ming on the battlefield, a malicious smile appeared on his monstrous face.

Despite the herpes and lumps disfiguring his face, Su Ming could tell it was a smile—one filled with contempt and cruelty.

"Constantine, I hope you didn\'t screw me over. If the scroll you gave me is a fake, you\'re going to have a lot of fun later."

Su Ming swung his Nightfall in a wide arc, forcing the nearby enemies to retreat. He quickly pulled out the magic scroll that Constantine had given him and, without hesitation, ignited it.

A foul yet strangely fragrant smell filled the air, like tofu frying in sesame oil.

The small scroll released an enormous cloud of thick smoke, engulfing Su Ming completely. The fire was almost imperceptible, with only billowing black smoke rising.

"Cough, cough... this stinks. Was this scroll written with dung?"

Su Ming felt a wave of nausea. The smell was so repulsive it was almost impossible to tolerate, and there was a vague sense of danger lurking in his mind.

When the smoke cleared, a tall, white-haired old man with a sharp mind stood before Su Ming, leaning on a cane.

He was dressed in a high-end, handmade white suit, a friendly smile on his face, and a handcrafted cigar between his fingers, from which he took a satisfied puff.

However, he was barefoot, and his feet were as black as if they\'d been soaked in ink. Even the lower half of his pants was black, with an endless stream of black mud seeping from the hems.

In an instant, the ground beneath them was covered in the black sludge.

"Ah, Constantine, I\'ve come to claim your soul... Hmm? You\'re not Constantine?"

The old man looked Su Ming up and down, instantly realizing he was just another victim of Constantine\'s tricks. But it didn\'t matter—since Constantine had delivered another good soul, he\'d let that filthy soul of his slide for a few more days. After all, everyone dies eventually.

Su Ming cursed internally. He had indeed guessed that Constantine might give him a scroll to summon a demon, perhaps Etrigan or Neron—those particularly battle-hungry types. But he hadn\'t expected Constantine to bring out the big guns.

Others might not recognize the old man in front of him, but Su Ming knew him immediately from his black feet.

This was Satan, the strongest of the Hell Lords.

His power level was hard to gauge, but if he could arm-wrestle with God, he couldn\'t be too weak. The key point was that he absolutely loathed Constantine.

Constantine had sold his soul to almost every demon lord in Hell because his soul was so filthy that it was a powerful source of nourishment for the demons. Everyone wanted it.

But Constantine, crafty as the devil himself, always found a way to wriggle out of giving up his soul, often using all sorts of tricks to escape.

Last time, he tricked Satan into helping him with a bunch of tasks, and when it came time to claim his soul, Constantine handed over a chicken.

It turned out the blood on the contract scroll wasn\'t his but chicken blood he\'d swapped in with sleight of hand, meaning Satan had signed a contract with a chicken. When the contract was fulfilled, all Satan could take was the chicken\'s soul.

This had infuriated the Hell Lord, but there was nothing he could do. Hell had its rules—everything was a transaction.

As Su Ming pondered, Satan turned his gaze to the battlefield around them, seeming to understand the situation.

"Oh? A multiverse crisis? Human who summoned me, how about making a deal?"

He let out a deep, rumbling laugh. Instantly, a flaming pentagram appeared on the ground, isolating them from all the enemies trying to attack.

Whether bullets or energy blasts, everything was blocked by the towering wall of fire and instantly transferred to the Hell dimension.

"What kind of deal?" Su Ming licked his lips, trying to think quickly. The deal was obviously for his soul, and with Su Ming\'s soul merged with that of Slade Wilson, it was undoubtedly more powerful and, thus, more enticing to the demon.

But Su Ming pretended not to understand, hoping to buy some time.