Multiverse: Deathstroke

Chapter 272: Ch.271 Assassination and Infiltration

A cool breeze brushed against him, carrying with it the dampness of the night air. But the scent it brought wasn\'t that of flowers. It was the unmistakable smell of iron and blood.

The city was eerily silent—no dogs barking, only the occasional sporadic gunshot that echoed in the distance, with no way to tell who had fallen victim to it.

Su Ming\'s expression remained blank. Such was the battlefield. He could afford to indulge Halloway\'s sympathy to maintain team morale, to keep up appearances in front of the X-Men. But he, personally, had no need for sympathy.

He was a warrior, a killer. Sympathy for strangers was a luxury he could not afford.

He could pretend to be ordinary—an employer, a cousin, or even a good person. The world had its own atmosphere, and he mimicked it, just like the masked men here, so he wouldn\'t stand out too much and be rejected by this reality.

But in truth, Su Ming used these outward roles to mask his true intentions, plans that had all been executed flawlessly without anyone else realizing.

His mind remained calm and collected. Not even the symbiote or the Godkiller weapon could influence his will. Saving the world was just the first step in his grand plan. He intended to pull this world back onto the timeline he knew, then take what he desired.

There were no stars in the sky, no moon, only enemies. In this city, under this sky, he was surrounded on all sides.

"Boom!!!"

An explosion echoed from the distance, shattering the stillness of the night. Almost instantly, the searchlights from the airships all focused in that direction, and flames from the blast shot into the sky amidst the beams of light.

"An oil depot... So it begins."

Su Ming placed his helmet back on, feeling the symbiote spread across his face like a cold hand. But soon, it became part of him once again.

His helmet\'s red visor flickered as streams of glowing data ran through it, completing its self-check. The tactical display activated.

He leaped from the rooftop, the Cloak of Levitation guiding him silently toward the enemy in the dark of the night.

The Deathstroke had begun his mission.

The anti-aircraft battery was set up in what was once a small garden, surrounded by sandbags and barbed wire, with a narrow passage for entry and exit.

Two simple wooden sentry boxes stood on either side of the passage, but no one liked to stay inside them unless it was raining. On a clear night like this, even the well-trained German soldiers didn\'t feel the need to huddle in those booths.

At that moment, two German soldiers were standing by the road, smoking and chatting.

One of them was older, possibly a veteran from the first war, and he was recounting the events of the day to the younger soldier beside him.

In his exaggerated story, a black-and-yellow armored monster had torn through their ranks, even devouring a five-meter-tall steel warrior alive.

The young soldier shuddered in fear. He had killed people on the battlefield, but the idea of someone eating humans was terrifying.

He had heard rumors that Hydra was known for such atrocities, but did their enemies do it too?

In truth, the older soldier hadn\'t been anywhere near the action. A seasoned veteran wouldn\'t risk going near an explosion. He had climbed up a nearby building and watched the fountain plaza from afar, then embellished what he saw to frighten the rookie for fun.

The rookie was too scared to think critically. If he had, he would have realized they were anti-aircraft troops—nowhere near the front lines.

"Was it really that terrifying?"

The young soldier was trembling as he smoked. He had been just an ordinary citizen from a small town, enlisting due to his admiration for the Führer and a burning sense of pride.

"Hey, don\'t be so doubtful. Look at the kinds of monstrous weapons we have. Isn\'t it normal for the enemy to develop something similar?" the veteran replied, slowly puffing smoke rings and standing beside the rookie, his wrinkled face showing irritation at the young man\'s disbelief.

It was like during the first world war—when Britain invented the tank, everyone else soon had them too.

"No, I believe you. Tell me more, Old Hans. What did the monster look like?"

Standing guard at night was boring, especially in the heart of Paris. If the veteran didn\'t keep talking, the night would drag on painfully.

The veteran scratched his head. How should I make this up? I didn\'t get a good look.

"Well, that monster... It grew multiple tails from its rear, and those tails could operate various weapons. I even saw one tail drive a tank straight into the monster\'s mouth!"

"Really? What else?"

The rookie was starting to doubt, feeling that things had taken a surreal turn. Were the Allied soldiers all monsters now?

"The creature was horribly ugly, black and yellow all over, and didn\'t even look human. When it grabbed someone, it would bite them—sometimes the head first, sometimes the legs. Whether you suffered or not depended on your luck," the veteran continued, clearly enjoying his storytelling. Who cared about realism?

"What does luck have to do with it?" the rookie asked again.

"If it bites off your head first, you\'ll die quickly. If it bites off your legs first, you\'ll die slowly and painfully," the veteran said with a grim tone, slowly exhaling smoke as if he had seen it all.

The rookie scratched his neck, feeling uncomfortable. The wind rustled the trees nearby, their leaves making a ghostly rustling sound, and he felt as if dark spirits were closing in around them.

A cold chill ran down his spine, like he was being watched by something sinister.

"Don\'t worry. That monster may be strong, but it\'s no match for our great Führer. We will win!" the veteran reassured the rookie, patting him on the shoulder.

But as his hand landed, the rookie fell stiffly to the ground, his face frozen in terror, his eyes wide open in shock. He was already dead.

He had collapsed silently onto the soft grass, not making a sound.

The veteran crouched down, feeling for a pulse and checking for wounds. He was about to fire his weapon in alarm when he noticed a pair of unfamiliar boots before him.

The boots belonged to someone who had been standing right behind them the whole time, listening to their conversation, and yet the veteran had felt nothing.

No breath, no sound, no soul—this person had blended into the night itself.

He slowly raised his head, his gaze traveling up from the steel-clad boots to the black-and-yellow warning stripes, and finally to the scarlet eye staring down at him.

Then, he felt his world spin as everything began to fade into the distance.

That was the last color he ever saw.