Multiverse: Deathstroke

Chapter 249: Ch.248 Gas Warfare

Producing poison gas... the process felt somewhat similar to brewing liquor, actually. The chemical reactions were quicker, though, and admittedly more dangerous—but it was all for the boss.

A figure approached Deadpool and the others, also dressed in a hazmat suit. After nodding to the trio, he leaned over to peer into the large pit below and called out.

The repeated impacts over the days had deepened the pit, but its floor had become compressed and hardened to the strength of steel, ensuring it wouldn\'t leak.

"Boss? You doing alright down there?"

"Is that Gin? I\'m fine. How\'s business lately?" Despite the muffling effect of his gas mask, Su Ming recognized his subordinate\'s voice.

Gin leaned over the edge of the pit, addressing Su Ming below. "Domestically, liquor sales haven\'t fluctuated much, but other exports have been severely impacted. The Germans have developed some unusual technologies, and maritime shipping has almost completely shut down. You\'ll see for yourself when you get out."

Mister Sinister struggled fiercely, but the symbiote\'s strength pinned him down firmly. All he could do was listen helplessly as Su Ming casually discussed business. Sinister started to realize he might actually lose this time.

As a biologist with considerable knowledge in chemistry, Sinister was well aware of the gas Halloway had synthesized. The mixture of those two toxins, liquid at room temperature, would evaporate with minimal heat, causing unbearable suffering for anyone exposed to it. Victims would experience extreme respiratory distress, vomiting, seizures, and instinctively tear at their own chests, trying to pull out their lungs.

The key was the relentless vomiting, which would confuse the lungs and stomach, making it impossible to differentiate between the two. In WWI, bodies poisoned by gas were often left unburied due to the grotesque condition they were in—too gruesome to handle.

Though the poison hadn\'t been released yet, the mere thought of it was enough to unsettle Sinister. Still, he clung to a sliver of hope. Maybe he could endure it. Or maybe the others were bluffing and didn\'t really have the gas.

As he struggled and his mind raced, Gin\'s preparations were swiftly completed. The same large hundred-liter barrels used for brewing had been rolled into the underground chamber, enough to cover the entire pit in a layer of toxic liquid.

If the liquid vaporized, the quantity was carefully calculated to avoid affecting London above. Any more than this, and both Halloway and Monarch would have objected.

"How much did this operation cost?" Su Ming asked.

"A lot, boss," Gin replied, brushing dirt off his suit as he stood up. "I never realized how expensive large-scale chemical equipment could be. Airfreight charges were through the roof, and I had to pull a few strings and call in favors. The real cost was in those connections."

"Don\'t worry, I\'ll make the money back. Let\'s start now."

"Understood, boss."

Gin turned to the heavily armored enforcers and waved them forward. Apart from Deadpool, who couldn\'t care less about dying, both Monarch and Halloway had prudently stepped far back from the scene.

The enforcers rolled the barrels forward, the sound of them clunking against the ground echoing ominously—like a weight pressing down on Sinister\'s heart.

They positioned the barrels at the edge of the pit and pried the tops off with crowbars. Over ten streams of green liquid cascaded down like waterfalls into the pit.

A sharp, acrid smell began to fill the air. Su Ming\'s helmet filtered out the toxic components, so all he caught was a faint chemical scent, like the smell of chalk.

But Mister Sinister was not so fortunate. His entire body felt as though it had ignited. The fumes from the liquid caused him indescribable agony.

His eyeballs bulged out of their sockets and exploded into bloody mist, only to regrow due to his healing factor—only to explode again.

His windpipe and lungs felt as though they were being seared from the inside, and he wanted to rip them out, but Su Ming held his arms firmly in place, forcing him to endure the sensation of them withering away.

The skin on his back, submerged in the liquid, began to bubble as if scalded by fire.

His throat, corroded by the gas, would heal, only to be burned again. His screams became intermittent, sounding like a garbled, agonizing song to Su Ming\'s ears.

Su Ming was also submerged in the toxic liquid, but with the symbiote shielding him, he was entirely unharmed. The gas, deadly to human organs, posed no threat to the symbiote, which didn\'t breathe or have skin. To it, the toxin was simply a peculiar kind of water.

"Stop! Aah!! I surrender! Please!!" Sinister screamed as he continuously rotted and regenerated. His pale face would disintegrate, revealing raw muscle and sinew, only to reform, and all he could do was plead desperately with Su Ming. "Let me go! Aaah! I swear I won\'t retaliate! I\'ll never help the Germans again! This is hell! Please, for the love of God!"

Beneath his mask, Su Ming raised an eyebrow. It worked. He hadn\'t expected Deadpool\'s plan to be so effective. Perhaps Su Ming\'s own "bottom line" had simply been too high.

"Let you go? That\'s not happening. I\'ll only rest easy if I lock you away."

The toxic liquid continued to rise, creeping toward Sinister\'s mouth. If that stuff made its way into his stomach, it would be... an experience, for sure.

"Fine! I surrender! Aaah!!"

The torment of the gas was unlike being stabbed or beaten. It was an all-encompassing pain, as every cell in Sinister\'s body ruptured, with no escape from the agony.

Cold yet burning, itching yet hurting—unbearable torment, all while being pinned down with no way to struggle.

In the end, Sinister broke. After seven days of resistance, he finally fell to Su Ming and his little cousin\'s relentless attack.

But he had reached a conclusion in his mind: surrender would bring relief. At least he\'d escape this hellish pit of poison gas and, more importantly, get away from that red-black-clad clown\'s incessant blathering.

"Good. Monarch, prepare a magical contract to seal his powers."

Su Ming used the symbiote to pull both of them out of the poison pit, pressing Sinister against the edge of the hole.

Monarch stepped forward and began casting spells, summoning over a dozen dark magic techniques in succession. A small army of dead rabbits littered the ground, but Sinister simply wore a relieved smile, making no effort to resist.

"Finally... hehehe."

Deadpool sauntered over, scratching his chin. "Hmm? Is he drooling? Cousin, did you break him?"

"Probably not?" Su Ming released his hold on Sinister, watching as the villain squirmed on the ground like a worm. Well, maybe just a little bit.

"Ahem, let\'s take Sinister to a safe place to be locked up. I\'ll go speak with the London Master of Kamar-Taj. We\'ll temporarily imprison him in the London Sanctum."

Monarch straightened up, wiping the tears from his face. His poor rabbits had suffered greatly.

Arranging to use the dungeon of the London Sanctum was a minor issue. After all, the place usually just held experimental subjects. The Master of the Sanctum agreed readily to take Mister Sinister in.

Inside the magical prison that served as his cell, Sinister watched the figures of his captors retreating into the distance. Finally, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Pretending to be insane worked. At last, I\'m free from their attention. I\'m done with this Namor project for good. Now... how to escape?"

Just then, a kindly old man with a long white beard entered the cell. It was the Master of the London Sanctum, who smiled warmly at Sinister through half-moon spectacles.

"So, pretending to be insane, were you? You\'re a clever little rascal. Now, let me show you something fun."

In the dark cell, strange purple lights began to glow, and Sinister\'s screams filled the air once more.