Multiverse: Deathstroke-Chapter 496: The Four Seas Stir

The Joker fingered the plastic flower on his chest, filled with the strongest acid and magnetofluid he could find.

His plan was to burn a hole through Luthor’s skull, carving a smile only Superman could see.

With a sad expression, he told Luthor how he’d meant to kill him.

But Luthor’s release of the Laughing Bat soured his game.

"My cute, perfect plan, ruined. Boo-hoo." The Joker hung his head, eyes closed in mock grief. Luthor wouldn’t die gloriously, and he genuinely pitied him.

An imperfect story—like sculpting a Batman statue, only to accidentally give it a smile.

All wrong. Everything wasted. Only fit to discard.

Luthor’s betrayal disqualified him from a grand death.

"Compared to what the Laughing Bat will do, you missed a chance to die aware." The Joker stepped away from Luthor, heading for the door. "Killing you now is too easy. You’ll face the consequences you caused."

Swaying, he left the "Destruction" Doorknob on the table. He didn’t need it.

"See ya, Lex."

He pulled out a smiley-faced button, pressed it lightly, and left.

The meeting room’s vents spewed green fog, veiling everyone like gauze.

"Odd, the gas’s effect is fading." Cheetah, with her strong physiology, recovered first, rubbing her stiff feline face.

"Not bad. My mouth’s torn from grinning." Mr. Freeze, helmeted, couldn’t rub his face.

Seeing them normalize, Luthor shouted, "Get me down!"

Grodd, still wearing a faint smile, obeyed. "Got it. Why yell? My head’s pounding like a hangover."

As he freed Luthor, the other villains headed out.

"Where are you going?" Luthor demanded.

"We’re out." Riddler waved his question-mark cane. "I didn’t come across the cosmos to piss off the Joker. I can do that at home."

"Hmph." Luthor scoffed. Gotham’s cowards feared the lunatic.

"Good luck. Your plan sounds solid," Riddler said politely, then bolted.

"Uh, what now?" Cheetah watched the crowd scatter, leaving the room starkly empty. "We lost Manta and the Joker. We’re down to five, while the Justice League has more than I can count."

Luthor dusted his lab coat, wiping blood from his bald head. "I told you, we have enough."

"This mess just made us look weak, vulnerable," Cheetah said, pain flaring from her torn wounds, worsened by the laughing fit.

Luthor grabbed the Doorknob, growling fiercely. "Wrong, Dr. Minerva! With the Anti-Monitor, we’re winning!"

He strode to the table’s edge, where a backup plan awaited.

"I recruited the Joker because he’s the pinnacle of human intellect—no ambition, no curiosity, pure human entropy. But without him, I have better!"

The Joker’s betrayal woke Luthor. Freeing the Laughing Bat was a mistake.

Blinded by curiosity, he’d unleashed a monster, trouble for the Multiverse.

The Dark Knights didn’t care if you were hero or villain when chaining souls to dark spires and tuning forks.

People = living spirit and flesh = energy. Their math was simple.

The Laughing Bat came to the main universe not to play or dream, but to win.

For himself.

Luthor slapped the table, activating a control panel. "Computer, contact Omega Base. Find Dr. Ivo. To survive what’s coming, the Legion needs Brainiac!"

In an unknown cosmic lab, a scientist with walnut-wrinkled skin received the order.

Under dim lights, he donned goggles, speeding up his work. On the assembly table lay a mechanical body—their "old friend," Brainiac, supposedly destroyed in Krypton’s explosion.

Simultaneously, Martian Manhunter, Hawkgirl, and Green Lantern John’s team, sent to Thanagar, was trapped by enthusiastic locals.

The Martian Elder they sought was reportedly dead, plans thwarted. Worse, they were roped into Thanagar’s month-long Independence Festival, unable to leave.

Surrounded by winged beauties, any attempt to depart triggered tantrums. They had to stay.

John seemed to enjoy it, kissed by fiery-lipped women, grinning and boasting about his cosmic peacekeeping.

Cyborg’s team—Starfire, Death Angel, and, en route to the Phantom Zone, Green Lantern Jessica Cruz—fared no better.

Together, they entered the Phantom Zone, only to be trapped in a bizarre space, their ship wrecked, unable to return.

An unknown Phantom Universe, unrecorded, filled with thousands of dying worlds, their people struggling on the brink.

Weirdly, Cyborg, Starfire, and Death Angel were worshipped as gods—not for their powers, but because these worlds had revered them for millennia.

Statues of the trio dotted the planets, hailed as Old Gods.

Cyborg was "Iron God," mobbed with devotees kissing his feet. How could he not help?

Worse, they faced Darkseid. The four combined couldn’t withstand one glare.

Cyborg recalled the searing Omega Beams.

Darkseid spared them, spouting cryptic nonsense and leaving them to find answers.

Cyborg figured it’d take years to return to Earth.

Meanwhile, Su Ming brought Harley and Ivy back to Earth.

In Brooklyn, Harley owned a building and wanted to return. Su Ming obliged—knowing where to find them next time.

The alien fleet had withdrawn to Earth’s outer orbit.

The seas receded; Arthur and Tempest had detoxified Earth’s waters.

Compensation? Let the League negotiate with the sea gods.

Their ship landed on the building’s roof, still damp but above water.

"My fridge, my TV—ruined." Harley meant to check downstairs, but the stairwell was flooded. She slumped against the wall.

The roof held a trebuchet—Harley’s garbage launcher, flinging cat litter bags miles into the sea, dodging disposal fees.

Ivy was content. The water was retreating, most plants would survive, and she could handle soil salinity.

"You leaving now?" she asked Deathstroke.

Su Ming tinkered with the "Poop-a-pult." During New York’s last bio-crisis, Harley had launched people with it.

"Yeah. Luthor got the Anti-Monitor but took losses. He’ll lie low. I’ve got tasks to wrap up."

"Leaving already? Stay till the water’s gone. We could throw a party." Harley perked up. "I can introduce you to tenants, like Tiny Tony, the dwarf doorman. He’s an inventor and arms dealer. Or Mrs. Pince downstairs, a drug lord. Her son’s a serial killer. You’d like them."

"Serial killer? Outdo me?" Su Ming chuckled, shaking his head. Interesting folks, but duty called.

"Not your league, but regular folks killing regular folks? Thrilling, right?" Harley grinned, licking her lips.

"You’re the landlord, right?"

Harley nodded. "Yup, all legit."

"I’ll rent a single, no windows, back-facing." Su Ming tossed her a wad of cash. With Earth’s constant crises, buying a place could wait. Renting from Harley worked.

Harley snatched the money, pocketing it without counting.

"No singles, but you can crash with me and Ivy. Our suite’s got a spare bedroom."

"Harley?!" Ivy’s glare screamed restraint.

Harley’s eyes flashed dollar signs. Why not cash in? A bedroom for thousands—easy money. Her tenants always dodged rent; Deathstroke was a goldmine.

She didn’t want to live in a forest, sleeping in vine hammocks. She needed walls, a roof, a home.

But homes had bills—electricity, gas, insurance, management fees. Skipping trash fees barely dented it.

She’d quit crime. No more bank heists. She’d joined an underground skating club, ran a circus, posed as a doctor—all for cash.

Now, with Deathstroke, she could stay home, game, and order takeout.

Being a true landlord? Bliss.

"Deal." Su Ming boarded his craft. "Got things to do. I’ll be back when the water’s gone."

"Bye! Come back soon—maybe catch the party!" Harley waved as the cloaked craft vanished.

"Harley!"

"What, Red?"

"We only have one bed!"

Harley tilted her head. Was that even a problem?