Multiverse: Deathstroke-Chapter 424: Start Digging the Trap

"Is this it? The magic circle?"

Behind the door, Su Ming finally laid eyes on the so-called 'magic pillar' circle, though reality strayed a bit from his guesses.

The circle's core was only the size of a manhole cover, and it looked utterly mundane—no magical glow, no fancy patterns.

It was like an Indian dreamcatcher pieced together with silvery-white branches, laid flat on the ground, coated in a thick layer of dust.

But Albera and Zatanna crouched down to inspect it, confirming the group hadn't come to the wrong place—this unassuming thing was indeed the magic pillar both sides were after.

"The magic circles you've seen, a lot of them draw on Hell's power, with casting materials like souls or flesh, but not all circles are like that."

Albera, bottle in hand, explained to Su Ming, then chugged a few big gulps—glug, glug, glug.

Su Ming did the math. In just a few hours tonight, she'd downed seven or eight bottles of whiskey—enough to knock out a horse.

Though Albera still seemed sober now, Su Ming wanted Zatanna's take too—after all, a less tipsy sorceress felt more reliable.

Zatanna stood up, wiping her hands on her clothes. "She's right. This is a seriously powerful circle. It looks plain, but that's the perfect disguise."

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"The materials aren't ordinary at all—branches from the world's first laurel tree, the first olive branch a dove brought to Noah's Ark, tears from Cain and Abel, even a scrap of God's burial shroud, plus a ton of Enochian runes. Smart move, using God's power to counter Hecate."

Albera raised her bottle, explaining in detail while toasting the sky, like she meant to share her whiskey with God.

Bobo scratched his head, crumpling his detective hat into a ball in his hand. "Wait, you're saying there's been a church of God under Mount Olympus all this time?"

Su Ming let out a whistle. "Phew~ I don't see it that way. They're just kleptomaniacs—stole God's power to deal with another claimant."

Albera pointed at Su Ming with a grin, winking to show she agreed with his take.

Donna didn't react much. Diana had already told her that whether it's the Titans or Olympus, these so-called gods all had issues.

"It's not exactly a church—just a mashup of God-related stuff thrown together."

Zatanna gave her verdict, feeling exhausted.

She'd thought her family's backward magic was the cleanest kind—no need to worship any god to wield big power.

But in truth, her magic was stolen from the darkest roots. Her father had seen the primal fire itself.

That's why backward magic was reversed, why she could rewrite reality.

And now with Reverse-Flash showing up, her power was useless—aside from her knowledge of the magic world, she was a nobody.

She felt helpless and worried about Constantine's situation in Hell.

This underground palace had a door. If Constantine broke free, he could zip here instantly through the House of Mystery's portal, but he hadn't shown.

Little did they know, crafty Constantine was busy conning lifespans out of Hell's demon lords.

Given how many wanted his soul, they'd settled on a 'gentle' way to duke it out.

That meant hitting the gambling table, each betting their souls.

Aside from Satan, who knew his tricks, and Mephisto, whose mind was elsewhere, the other demons got roped into the game with a few slick words from the scumbag.

The angels had backed off for now, and the demons' chaotic nature flared up again—each had their own schemes, so the angels' freakout didn't matter much anymore.

Hell about to collapse? Let's play a few hands first.

Though Constantine was near death, per the deal, his soul was still his until he croaked.

It was his own property, so naturally, he could gamble it.

He'd roped the demons into playing mahjong—a game they didn't know— Elimination style, now on round thirteen.

Until the match ended, the demons wouldn't let him die. They'd keep him going to finish, to prove they were tougher than the rest, to claim Constantine's filthy soul.

Some demon lord would end up slipping him demon blood on their own—that was Constantine's plan.

He was playing mahjong with his life on the line, no room to think about anything else. The demon lords picked up games fast—one outpacing the next.

Su Ming bent down to test it. The thing made of branches and rags looked like some offbeat funeral wreath.

It seemed just tossed on the ground, but even with his current strength, he couldn't budge it an inch—like the space itself was locked down.

"No point trying." Albera, off to the side, puffed her cigarette leisurely. "Think it's called a pillar for nothing? It's holding up the whole world's magic barrier right now. You could destroy it, but lifting it? Impossible."

Su Ming pursed his lips, stood up, and started setting up Batman's gear around it.

"Like how a person can't lift air?"

Albera tilted her head, scratching her hair with the hand holding her cigarette. "Close, but more like a person can't lift Earth. People live on Earth, and they live on everything magic builds too."

Su Ming buried stake-like devices into the ground, plugging in batteries with bat logos, then grabbed some rubble to hide them.

The surrounding walls needed a few too, to pull off a convincing 3D effect.

These were dummy-proof gadgets, designed so Batman could slap them together fast when needed. They came preloaded with Ares's image and voice—definitely meant for Diana.

"I guess magic's not my thing. Your theory's got no value to me."

"Of course it does. Say you had a fulcrum and an infinitely long lever—you could pry Earth loose." Albera took a swig, grinning at him. "That's what the gods have been chasing forever, like Hecate now."

"Like Hecate."

Su Ming nodded in agreement. The gear was fully set up in this circular hall—now it was up to Barry's tech side.

And Barry, being a scientist, didn't let Su Ming down. With Speed Force-amped learning, he'd mastered Batman's system in no time.

He'd even upgraded it, giving the hologram adaptive reactions to outside conditions.

Of course, that leaned on STAR Labs' tech reserves.

"What do you want our dummy to look like?" Barry rubbed his hands, flexing his fingers eagerly. As long as Deathstroke had a clear idea, he'd make it happen via keyboard pronto.

It felt like he was a director now—kinda thrilling.

"Hm, start with a giant. The organ between its legs needs to be tentacle-like, covered in suckers, and it talks. Yep, skin rotting—extra rotten—like the color of a cereal-eating baby puking on watery cow dung."

Barry: "..."