Multiverse: Deathstroke-Chapter 441: Waterlogged Gotham

The moment contact with them dropped, Batman knew it was bad.

If Diana and Arthur went dark together, this wasn't just a crisis—it was world-ending, maybe apocalyptic.

Then, satellites caught it: countless spacecraft warped into Earth's synchronous orbit.

Silver-metal hulls, red-glowing engines, yet sporting triangular sails and masts—old-school fishing boats gone sci-fi. Weird as hell.

They swarmed like locusts, blanketing the sky, locking Earth in a chokehold.

From their sterns, red energy nets deployed, weaving into airtight barriers, cocooning the planet.

At the same time, purple seawater rained from above. Ocean levels spiked fast on his screens.

Batman slammed the red button on his console.

"Justice League emergency alert: Earth's under invasion. Everyone, gear up."

Meanwhile, Su Ming was chilling with two ladies atop Wayne Tower, watching the sea roll in.

Barry's phone was dead—probably somewhere signal-free. Su Ming didn't know if Wayne Enterprises was his carrier, but damn, that service sucked.

"Wayne Tower's safe for now, but my plants..."

Poison Ivy paced, frantic. Not all greenery could hack a flood.

At over 500 meters, the tower had maybe a dozen hours before water hit the roof. Gotham below? Less lucky.

A tsunami loomed on the horizon—a white line, slow-looking but relentless, like a wall splitting worlds.

Batman had prepped for this.

Post-Metal event, after Barry's Earth-Negative-11 spiel, he'd taken tsunamis seriously.

No half-measures.

He'd sunk big bucks—plus some Central City STAR Labs tech—into an energy wall around Gotham.

When the surge hit, generators would rise from the suburbs, forming a hidden shield.

High-speed air currents, amped by magnetic fields and energy, made an invisible dam to hold the flood at bay.

But against an Atlantean-scale threat? His setup was shaky.

Normally, he'd just need to stall the water long enough for Superman and Flash to nix the source.

Now, with the whole planet drowning, they were stuck globe-trotting, saving folks.

Earth's population—under seven billion—still took time, even at their speed.

Gotham's defenses wouldn't hold long. Its maze of sewers? Even Batman couldn't tame those.

"I see the Bat-family—they're evacuating civilians," Ivy said, tapping into her plants. Masked figures were herding people onto planes downtown.

Sun was up now. Su Ming's new artifact kicked in—anywhere sunlight touched, unblocked by magic or divine mojo, he could peek live.

He scanned his eyepiece feed, checking global chaos.

Maybe a trade-off: Batman got STAR Labs tech and funded Central City's "Breakwater"—Speed Force-powered, though.

The Flash family—Wally, Jay, whoever—were hamster-wheeling on treadmills, juicing the wall.

Perk? Run faster, pump more power, and the barrier grew taller.

They'd keep Central City dry 'til they collapsed.

Other cities? Not so lucky.

Metropolis was swamped—water up to car hoods.

Wrecks and gridlock followed. Worse, purple water hit humans, and boom—fish-headed freaks in seconds.

"Tch. If I didn't spot the Daily Planet, I'd think this was Innsmouth," Su Ming muttered, grimacing. "Streets full of 'Deep Ones.' Unreal."

He kept scanning.

Star City—flooded.

Coast City—submerged.

Even D.C., home of the Justice Hall, had water creeping in.

Fish-mutants acted like zombie carriers—not eating flesh or brains, just dragging folks underwater to swell their ranks.

Something was steering this.

Su Ming sighed. His Earth-Negative-11 nightmare, remixed in the main world.

This scale ruled out Atlantis or the gods—their power didn't cut it.

God could whip up a world-ending flood, sure, but turning everyone into fishfolk? Pointless for Him. Not His style.

Teaming with Ivy and Harley had upsides—they weren't itching to play hero, sparing Su Ming the hassle.

Harley even gleefully timed the breakwater's endurance.

It was leaking now. As outside water rose, Gotham's sea-draining sewers reversed, puking filth onto streets.

"Biochemical attack on Earth's fauna," Su Ming said, ditching the gross view to brief the girls. "Any animal hitting that purple stuff mutates."

"What about plants?" Ivy pressed, tense.

"You're still linked to them—the Green's fine for now. But if seas keep rising, plants underwater long-term? You're the botanist—you know the score."

He laid it straight. Ivy was already on board with Harley; now she had no choice.

Not much to pick from anyway. Wayne Tower was an island in a drowning sea, and only Deathstroke could fly.

Gotham's manholes gushed water—city submersion was ticking down. Priority: bounce and find a safe spot.

Su Ming knew havens: Maggie Ken's Hell turf, the pocket-dimension Oblivion Bar, magical plane Mya, even the Soul Prison, Dreamlands, or Death's realm.

Flood-proof, all of 'em.

But his magic? Just big fireballs. No teleporting the girls there.

Magic's out—tech it is. Snag a spaceship, ride out the storm in orbit.

"I'm grabbing a ship from Batman. Hang tight."

He shot into the air, bee-lining for the Batcave. There'd be a way to reach Batman there.

He streaked over streets turned warzones—mutant fishfolk hitting residents, gunfire popping.

Gotham never lacked gangs. Some fought mutating; fishfolk wanted them in the drink. Resistance was natural.

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Su Ming glanced down.

Normal folks turning fish didn't gain much—water breathing, sure, but a handgun could drop 'em. Easier than zombies.

Gangsters' struggles just bought time. Rising water would soak them eventually.

"Ma'am, get inside—up to the roof!"

Gordon piloted a speedboat with a few cops, patrolling.

An old lady, cat in arms, peeked from her doorstep, eyeing the water.

Gordon urged her to lock up—fishfolk were multiplying. Those steps weren't safe.

Hero planes had slim capacity—couldn't ferry many at once. Gordon stayed, keeping order, telling folks to hit rooftops for rescue.

Maybe the boat's engine tipped them off—fishfolk popped up, yanking cops overboard.

Gordon, seasoned, leapt to the steps before they nabbed him.

His men resurfaced—not themselves anymore.

He shoved the lady inside, drew his pistol, and posted up at the door.

Mutated humans? Zombie rules now. Good lads once, but he had to shoot.

Fishfolk weren't just aquatic—land-game solid. They swarmed, ignoring his revolver, pinning him to drag him under.

Next second, their heads rolled.

Gordon scrambled from the corpse pile. A black-and-yellow armored figure floated before him—godlike.

"Commissioner Gordon, I'd suggest pulling back. Gotham's toast."

"Deathstroke?!"

Gordon's gut sank. What was this psycho merc doing here?

The flood his doing?

Su Ming read his face—misread city. Gordon was solid leverage. He grabbed him and took off.

No retreat? Too bad—you're coming anyway.

Minutes later, Barbara hit the scene. Just Gordon's gun on the steps—no sign of Dad.

Lost, she froze. Then Birds of Prey comms dropped worse news.

Nightwing took multiple shots evacuating civvies—critical, out cold.

"What? Nightwing's hit?" Barbara scoured the area—still no Dad. Maybe fish-ified.

Wiping tears, she pressed on saving folks.

She grappled to a perch, watching water flood from sewers, directing civvies to choppers while probing Nightwing's fate.

Huntress, on comms, explained: Nightwing missed some old gang foes he'd thumped before.

They ambushed him—chest and head blasted with sawed-off shotguns.

Huntress passing by saved him, but he needed urgent care to cling to life.

Barbara's gut twisted.

Who ID's every rescuee mid-crisis? Those punks picking now for payback screamed human madness.

Gotham's rescue crew lost two: Nightwing, down bad, and Huntress, hauling him to a doc.

The League's teleporters still worked, but the Hall was flooding—not safe either.

Huntress took Nightwing to Doctor Mid-Nite—guy could patch him with a bandage and grit.

Barbara couldn't help. She doubled down, saving folks harder, carrying Nightwing and Huntress's shares too.