Multiverse: Deathstroke-Chapter 430: A Chapter Closes

The golden pancake in his backpack was still dripping blood, but Su Ming didn't care—it's mostly brain juice, and Stranglehold would clean it up.

Speaking of which, it'd been days since it last ate brains—this was a nice treat.

To prevent any comebacks, he stripped Doctor Fate's body on the ground too—at least taking the Silver Scarab amulet and that uniform.

Those had some value. The body? Useless now—blasted to bits with a grenade.

The magic world's mess was sorted, Diana was safe, and the Olympus gig was done.

Su Ming scored a roundabout spellcasting gig in the DC world, 'inherited' the amulet and uniform from Doctor Fate, and now Olympus and the magic community owed him big.

The perks were so many, just thinking about it felt like hitting the jackpot.

Collecting the final payment from Olympus could wait—East Coast USA still had hours 'til dawn; he could kick back for a bit.

As for Perpetua and Hypnos going MIA, the clues were thin—let the Justice League poke around a while longer.

Once they dig something up, Su Ming could pry the intel from Barry's mouth.

The gorilla stepped out from a nearby wall. Barry'd scrounged up a bucket and mop from somewhere, and now Bobo trudged over like a janitor, starting to scrub the floor.

But Doctor Fate's corpse was too shredded—grenade bits everywhere, making it a real chore.

He'd meant to check if Kent was truly fully under Nabu's control—like a zombie bite or something.

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But Deathstroke went straight for the destroy-the-evidence play.

Well... nothing to say there.

Doctor Fate's ties with the crew weren't great or terrible—his order-first stance kept most folks at arm's length.

Would Bobo grill Deathstroke over a dead, sorta-stranger sorcerer?

He wasn't that bored—sorcerer fights were always kill-or-be-killed anyway.

Better to play dumb, clean up quietly, and dodge any future silencing from Deathstroke.

Donna went to the corner, hoisting Zatanna like a sack, ready to haul her back to the Justice Hall for some healing.

Albera was more direct—she marched up to Su Ming, stuck out a pale hand, and rubbed her fingers together lightly.

Job's done—she wanted her payout now, then home to crash hard.

She mulled it over and decided to sit out the Hypnos mess. With Lucifer gone AWOL, better to watch the wind first.

But she had a hunch it all tied to Heaven's glitch.

"Barry, Donna, you've got this—I'm taking Albera to grab her cash."

With that, Su Ming scooped up Albera and flew her to Hephaestus's place—his stash was parked there for now.

Albera'd been a team player the whole mission, tossing out solid ideas, so Su Ming generously slipped her a few extra bills.

Counting the cash, Albera gushed about how much she loved a big-shot boss like Deathstroke—next job, he better call her.

The money wiped out old gripes, like that time she flirted with him and got smacked.

Then they split at the volcano—Albera took a Hell portal home, while Hephaestus nabbed Su Ming with questions about god-metal Khaos.

Once Albera was gone, the burly Hephaestus dropped the grilling, staring at Su Ming with a weird look instead.

"I heard you took down Athena."

"Sorta—she's too weak, one tap and she was out."

Hephaestus slapped his gut, shaking his head with a laugh. "If I hadn't seen Athena fight, I'd buy that. C'mon, nothing between you two? She went that easy on you?"

Su Ming peeled off his helmet, lighting a smoke for himself and Hephaestus. "With enough Speed Force, I could knock out Zeus for you to see—Athena's nothing."

"Tsk tsk... Anyway, pretty much everything you did got noticed. Hermes knows you offed Pan—he's spreading word about you and a few goddesses everywhere now."

"Guess I'll set a trap, send him to reunite with his kid."

Su Ming rubbed his chin—too busy lately, even his beard's lost its shine. Maybe swing by Marvel, hit up Monarch for some magic beard wax?

Hephaestus tapped his head, like he'd just remembered something.

"Right—where'd you stash Pan, anyway? Hades says he never saw him. Hermes demanded him, but Hades came up empty—it's hit Hera's desk now."

"A good spot—once he's out, he'll turn over a new leaf."

Su Ming grinned, patting Hephaestus's arm—thicker than a normal guy's thigh—and turned to grab cash from the chest.

Hephaestus was just gossip-hungry, no real business, so Su Ming didn't bother elaborating. He took extra dough, ready to splurge.

Where's the hottest nightlife in the DC world?

That question barely needed a thought—answer's obvious.

Down below the Iceberg Lounge, in a swanky secret office.

Penguin was patiently trimming his cigar. The big wall TV kept replaying Riddler's humiliation—camera zooming in tight on the bat-brand on his ass.

It's the 4K HD era now—cameras catch every detail. After two days of news loops, even Cobblepot could tally the hairs on Nygma's backside.

And it had Penguin sweating bullets.

He asked himself—if Batman pulled that on him, could he still show his face?

Nope—answer's a hard no.

Forget staying a boss—he'd lose the guts to even live.

Too terrifying. Penguin couldn't sleep, haunted by the thought of Batman using that move on him.

A gun deal set for tonight? Canceled—lay low ten days, maybe half a month, see how the heat blows over.

Joker'd reached out lately, cackling about teaming up for some Gotham chaos—offering big bucks.

Penguin just laughed, didn't bite.

Where's Joker getting cash, anyway? But timing's off—Cobblepot didn't climb this high by being dumb.

Batman's gone full dirty-tricks mode—something big's brewing.

Riddler was the canary—his fate's a lesson for all.

It's not just Penguin thinking that—even wildman Black Mask went quiet, shuttering his chemical plant for a week-long 'holiday.'

Anyone in the underworld knows that's a poison lab under a government-shielded shell.

Now claiming an Independence Day break? Seriously? That's two months out.

But gotta admit—Batman's new tactics struck deep fear, like he'd zeroed in on their weak spots.

They're not Joker—pantsed and still laughing it up.

They're mob bosses—stripped and strung up roadside with a bat-dart tattoo on their ass? Career's done.

"Boss! Trouble! Batman's here!"

Just as he was clipping his cigar in his icy office, mulling next moves, a goon stumbled in, face pure panic.

Penguin's hand shook—the cigar dropped, rolling off far.