Multiverse: Deathstroke-Chapter 425: Descent

Following Deathstroke's instructions, Barry kept tweaking the data on the computer, his hands lightning-fast—Su Ming said a little, and he'd instantly refine it.

With this skill, if he went into ad design instead, he'd rake in way more cash than he does now studying physics at the lab or moonlighting as a forensic expert.

He could meet client demands on the spot—zero wait time.

As he kept at it, the indescribable monster projected in the hall grew more and more defined.

When Su Ming saw everyone but Albera and himself puking their guts out from a SAN score drop straight out of a Lovecraftian nightmare, he knew he'd hit the mark.

Now this 'enhanced cousin' hologram would truly become Reverse-Flash's worst nightmare.

"Didn't think he'd be this horrifying out of the suit. Even I'm kinda grossed out."

Su Ming took off his helmet to smoke, needing to calm down.

Even though the image was just his imagination—he'd recalled Wade Wilson's look, described it to Barry, then jazzed it up with heaps of Cthulhu flair.

But Deadpool's base was too solid. Without much effort, they'd cooked up a legit Elder God.

What the hell was this thing? Even Su Ming himself couldn't put words to the entity before him.

True indescribability was like this—not fear, but nausea and revulsion. Hell's lord Beelzebub wouldn't even rate a hair next to it.

Barry hurled up his dinner pizza. Compared to the others, he at least had time to dash out the door and puke into the pit sealing the First Born.

"This your cousin? When Thanksgiving rolls around, remind me to steer clear of your place."

Barry wiped his mouth, shielding his eyes, too afraid to look at the thing in the room.

"You can relax then—I don't have a home." Su Ming raised an eyebrow at Barry, grinning to show his worry was pointless.

"Hey, man, you don't have to live that rough. If you want, come crash with me at the Justice Hall. My room's huge."

Barry's sympathy kicked into overdrive—he couldn't stand seeing someone homeless.

"Your place has nothing but treadmills—not even a TV."

Su Ming didn't feel miserable being alone. It's how his last life was—he'd long gotten used to it.

"You could watch Superman's TV. He wouldn't mind. Of course, Batman's got the swankiest set, but I doubt he'd let you in his room." Barry kept yammering on with his pitch.

Su Ming patted his shoulder, appreciating the gesture. "No need. Your Justice Hall rooms are just staff dorms. I've got cash now—I can buy a place anywhere. Or are you planning to live at the Hall even after you're married? Trust me, Batman won't let your wife into the superhero life."

Seeing Barry sink into thought over that, Su Ming walked over to Albera on the other side. She was still puffing smoke and sipping booze, totally unfazed.

Meanwhile, Donna and Zatanna beside her had puked up bile.

"You can actually hold it in? Makes me wonder what you went through in Hell."

"When you drink enough, you can dodge seeing a lot you don't want to. Beats any protective spell." Albera shrugged, casually shoving her cigarette into Su Ming's mouth. "Why do some places call booze 'magic water'? 'Cause it shields the mind."

Feeling the damp touch of the cigarette butt, Su Ming shook his head. "I'm more the science type. What you call protection, I call numbing."

"Call it what you want. The world sorcerers see ain't the same as yours. If you ever tried astral projection, you'd see a world wilder than what a junkie on a trip catches."

Albera shook her head with a laugh. Explaining the magic world to a layman was tough—especially when they couldn't even see it.

But Su Ming was an exception.

He knew what astral projection was. Marvel had similar magic—in the Doctor Strange movie, the soul-leaving-body trick was astral projection, Ancient One's go-to for cosmic joyrides.

Only, domestic audiences usually called it 'soul detachment' or 'out-of-body incarnation.'

In that state, casters could see magic-dimension critters—total alien zoo vibes, all colors and freaky shapes galore.

Lots of sorcerers were boozers because they'd seen too much weird crap.

"Actually, I've seen the magic dimension." Su Ming took a hard drag, finished the smoke, tossed the butt, and snapped his helmet back on. "Bobo, clean up the puke and trash. The rest of you can hide. Leave me and Zatanna to face Hecate."

The black fur on the gorilla's face looked blacker. "Why am I stuck cleaning puke? After you and Flash cooked up that monstrosity?"

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Su Ming rolled his eyes. Couldn't believe Bobo was asking something so obvious—where's your famous detective pride?

"Because you're a bar owner. Cleaning up puke's your specialty, right?"

Bobo grimaced hard, smacking his own head with a growl.

Damn it, Deathstroke made too much sense—he had no comeback!

Hecate didn't arrive fast. Su Ming started wondering if she'd detoured somewhere first.

After setting everything up, he and Zatanna waited ages before Hecate finally strolled in.

When the Witch Mother materialized from the void, Su Ming knew where she'd been.

She'd slipped into Hell amid the chaos, reclaimed the power from Thorn and Black Orchid. Now, she was leagues stronger than she'd been back in Shangri-La.

"Why didn't anyone tell me her power growth isn't addition—it's multiplication?"

Su Ming muttered a quip to Zatanna beside him. In the torchlit space, their shadows had been faint.

But once Hecate showed, the purple aura blazing off her like Hellfire lit up everything. Forget shadows—the air itself thickened.

Compared to Su Ming's fearlessness, Zatanna, as a caster, couldn't stay so chill. She knew the Witch Mother's terror intimately, understood what that air-burning magic meant.

She wasn't sure their earlier plan still held water.

Hecate wasn't giant-sized this time—just a smidge taller than average. She wore a golden crescent headpiece and a deep purple bedsheet toga.

She eyed the two of them, and the ancient circle beneath their feet.

Her wrinkled, hag-like face twisted into a feral grin.