Multiverse: Deathstroke

Chapter 19: Ch.18 The Romans

"No," Su Ming tore the towel into three pieces, covering the eyes of all three. "If you dare to touch it, I\'ll break your toes."

"But the way you tied it is really uncomfortable, and even if I were to touch it, I\'d use my hands—why break my toes?" Vika squirmed in her seat, clearly uncomfortable.

"Because I feel like it," Su Ming answered her with a defiant tone. "Where\'s your proof?"

"You won\'t even let me see, so I\'m not telling you. Go ahead, kill me," Vika turned her head, stretching her neck toward Su Ming\'s hand.

"I never said you couldn\'t see. You just have to wait until we arrive. Besides, the person you want dead will be gone by tomorrow." Su Ming shared his plan, pushing her back into her seat. Cindy was driving wildly, and everything inside the car seemed to be vibrating at high frequency.

"Alright, remember what you said, hehe." Vika laughed, feeling like her luck was truly on her side. "I already know who the boss of those black-clad people is."

"Oh?"

Even Cindy was intrigued now. How had so many people missed this, but Vika figured it out? She didn\'t think the reporter was smarter than her.

But Su Ming knew Vika was just that bizarre. It was as if the heavens themselves favored her. She was lucky enough to not only stumble upon clues but, under the right circumstances, might even end up saving the world from a crisis.

That was how it went in the comics. Her luck was unbelievable. If some thugs tried to harass her, a superhero would conveniently be nearby. If she needed a news story, the clues would practically walk up to her. Even if her boss wanted to reprimand her, some board member would immediately step in to support her.

Su Ming decided to bring her along not only to use the TV station but also because of her strange luck. Sometimes you really do need a bit of luck to get things done—she made for a handy tool.

But does good luck really count as a superpower?

"Go on, continue," Su Ming gestured for her to speak.

"Ahem, I checked the wounds on the body. The cuts were very distinct, something you both must\'ve noticed too, which led me to think of ritualistic killings."

Vika cleared her throat, preparing to launch into a lengthy explanation.

Cindy shook her head, lighting up a cigar and blowing a smoke ring, which was quickly blown away by the wind.

"I don\'t remember any Jack the Ripper types in Gotham."

"Don\'t rush me. I haven\'t finished," Vika smiled under the towel, revealing only the lower half of her face. She slowly explained, "I don\'t recall any Jack the Ripper cases in Gotham either. So, if it\'s not a unique technique, it must be based on some ancient form of torture. Then I remembered where I\'d seen a record of such a method before."

"An ancient punishment?"

Su Ming crossed his arms, closed his eyes, and thought hard but couldn\'t recall anything. His mind was flooded with thoughts of ancient Chinese punishments like quartering and dismemberment.

Cindy seemed equally stumped; her expression showed she wasn\'t sure either. Smoking wasn\'t helping.

"Hehe, because it was kind of gross, I didn\'t thoroughly examine the body. But I estimate the weapon was about 60 centimeters long with a blade width of 5 centimeters, which confirmed my theory. This is a form of belly-slitting punishment. I happened to come across this method while reporting on a ritualistic murder case not too long ago."

Vika directly provided the answer, though the term sounded unfamiliar. Seeing the other three still clueless, she felt a sense of pride. It seemed her efforts to become an outstanding news anchor hadn\'t been in vain. Her obscure knowledge was finally useful. She continued to explain:

"This was an ancient Roman punishment. The victim was tied to a post, and a Roman short sword would be used to make them die slowly from blood loss. Now, if you think of Romans in Gotham, who comes to mind?"

"Carmine Falcone?" Su Ming sighed. "If it\'s him, it makes sense—he\'s always hated Gordon and the Bat."

"Hated? Gordon tricked him, and Batgirl roasted him under the Bat-Signal like a half-cooked steak. He\'s wanted them dead for years."

Cindy chimed in with a laugh, shaking her head. She had heard about what happened ten years ago. Batman could be downright weird sometimes. Torturing someone under the Bat-Signal? What kind of punishment was that?

But if Falcone was behind all this, things were starting to get complicated. Falcone wasn\'t just some brainless thug—he had once been the dark emperor of Gotham, a man who had ruled with an iron fist. For a man to rise to such power in this world, he certainly wasn\'t an idiot.

He wouldn\'t do anything pointless. The League of Shadows, a centuries-old organization, would undoubtedly recognize the ancient punishment inflicted on the body as Falcone\'s signature. It was a message: "I killed your people, come after me."

If this had been the Falcone of ten years ago, he would have had the strength to face off against the League. Back then, Gotham was entirely under his control.

But now? What did he have to fight with?

"Could it be a setup? I thought Falcone was locked up in Blackgate Prison," Barbara wanted to check on her computer, but she was still blindfolded.

"Gordon\'s daughter is so adorably na?ve," Vika teased, reaching out to touch Barbara\'s face, only for her to dodge. "Falcone was granted medical leave due to a \'sudden illness\' two months after being imprisoned. Looks like he\'s back."

"Yes, no one would frame someone who\'s been out of the game for a decade. People have already forgotten about him—only he would bring up old grudges," Cindy agreed. Falcone must have returned. After all, with the clues they had, this was the only logical conclusion.

The rain outside intensified. Cindy had now driven off the ring road, bumping along a muddy path.

The trees loomed darkly in the shadows, their leaves making a constant \'pitter-patter\' as rain poured down, creating a symphony of sound. Su Ming noticed the occasional fallen tree flashing by, indicating the wind had picked up as well. What had been a heavy downpour was now a full-blown storm.

Su Ming was surprised to learn that Wayne Manor was located in such a remote area. It seemed like getting basic utilities like water and electricity here would require special pipelines. And in an emergency, it would take time to get from here to the city—not convenient at all.

If Bryce lived next to the police station, wouldn\'t that be more convenient? The Bat-Signal could flash, and she could meet Gordon in under two minutes.

As he stared out the window at the plants and darkness, Su Ming let his mind wander, trying not to think too much about the looming threat of the Dark Multiverse. Dwelling on it was like staring at a sword hanging over your head—no good could come from it.

Vika finished sharing her clue and fell quiet, though her ears twitched slightly, as if she were trying to memorize the route by sound alone.

But someone without special forces training would never be able to pull that off—it was a waste of effort. Luck wasn\'t all-powerful.

Su Ming\'s thoughts returned to Gordon\'s kidnapping.

If Falcone was baiting the League of Shadows, then he must have prepared thoroughly. The League assassins were still human, highly trained but not invincible. If caught in a heavy-fire ambush, they\'d die like anyone else.

Except for their leader, the immortal Ra\'s al Ghul.

It seemed Falcone had rallied a new crew from somewhere and was preparing for war with the League. But as far as Su Ming knew, the two groups had never had any conflicts, let alone a grudge.

The League of Shadows was happy to work for the wealthy if the price was right. So why had this escalated? And what did Gordon have to do with it?

If Falcone wanted revenge, he should be targeting Gordon, Batman, and the Penguin.

Gordon had set up a meeting with him, only to find Batgirl waiting to ambush him. After being humiliated by her, the Penguin seized the opportunity to take over his territory, becoming Gotham\'s dominant force.

Falcone should be hiring the League of Shadows for help, not provoking them.