Multiverse: Deathstroke-Chapter 502: Relentless Pace

Marvel Universe, Long Island, New York, Wilson Enterprises’ top floor.

It was morning in Marvel. Su Ming noticed the time flow between the two universes had synced closer.

Twenty years in Marvel once equaled a month in DC, but after visiting the Ancient One and now returning, only two days had passed.

Fingering the Comedian’s badge, he suspected the "Manhattan Ball" was at play. Returning to DC, he could use it to detour through Manhattan, landing back at his departure point.

The gems’ origins were clear, but how they worked in Marvel? No clue.

It wasn’t a lack of knowledge but of cosmic understanding.

Manhattan explained via quantum concepts, but his rules weren’t universal.

Take Tom and Jerry—flattened into pancakes or sliced up, they bounce back. No quantum nonsense; their world just lacks death.

Even "seek death, find death" from his past life didn’t apply everywhere, let alone DC’s quantum theory.

So, Su Ming decided to explore the cosmic seas, gain insight, and maybe one day grasp these mysteries.

Leaning back in his boss’s chair, he poured amber liquor into a glass.

He’d planned a DC vacation, but it piled on more chaos. Marvel was peaceful by comparison.

Except for the ongoing World War II.

Steve’s "Howling Commandos" were probably still in Egypt.

Having dealt with Kang and Apocalypse, Su Ming left Hydra to Steve’s training.

"Boss."

Gin stepped in, same black suit, sporting the oversized ring Su Ming gave him.

"Any new intel? Still no Wakanda?" Su Ming gestured for him to sit. After twenty years, no need for formalities.

Gin approached the desk, pouring himself a drink, sighing. "We searched your marked region, but no trace. Axis and Allies turned Africa into a battlefield, and neither found this native utopia."

Su Ming sighed. Wakanda, with its advanced tech, had gone full stealth. Built on vibranium, yet a spiritual, tribal chiefdom, they saw heart-shaped herbs and vibranium as gifts from the Panther God.

His own tech tree had issues. He’d planned to trade cigarettes, drinks, and snacks for Wakanda’s industrial gear.

But a whole nation, unfindable? Plan scrapped.

Invest in Stark Industries? Buy shares?

Too early. Howard was less reliable than Tony, splitting time between SSR and Hollywood, directing films and chasing actresses.

Investing now was throwing money away. His starlet-fueled movies would tank.

"How’s the company’s revenue?"

Su Ming sipped, realizing he’d neglected business while in Europe.

"Tobacco and liquor are still the cash cows. With more U.S. troops in Europe, stockings and cosmetics sales spiked at the front," Gin said. Not an accountant, but he knew what made money.

British women loved stockings, so soldiers used pay to woo them—a romantic staple.

"Keep it going. I’ll rest a few days, then head out. Tell Vodka to buy land on Long Island. I’m starting a school."

"A school? That’s not profitable," Gin said.

"Times are changing, old friend. The world’s getting harsher. We can’t keep hiring street thugs."

Clinking glasses with Gin, Su Ming gazed at the golden sea outside. "Future youth need ideals, culture, loyalty, and versatility."

Gin nodded. A "school" to breed loyalists.

"Got it, boss."

"Recruit war orphans first. Free food and lodging, kindergarten through college. Jobs after graduation. Details later. I need a principal—neither of us is kid-friendly."

Loyalty took time, but Su Ming had plenty.

Gin left. Su Ming sat, lost in thought.

He needed rest. DC’s two days of intense battles and scheming wore him out.

For days, he went full slacker. Gin drove him in a stretch limo to inspect factories.

Nights were spent at the Peace Hotel, drinking, listening to music.

The old tavern was too small now—war drove more to drink.

Su Ming had Gin buy the residential building above, turning it into a full entertainment complex.

When Gin asked what that meant, Su Ming said, "Every legal entertainment—Wilson Enterprises are law-abiding, after all."

Gin got it: the usual, no drugs, gambling, or vice.

Mordo visited once, sent by the Ancient One, but Su Ming dodged the Sorcerer Supreme role, sweet-talking Mordo into joining Holloway.

"War’s not over. German warlocks are everywhere. Captain America needs magic support. Represent the mystic arts, but keep my identity secret."

Mordo looked better, less haggard. How many rabbits suffered?

Su Ming knew he wanted to fight Nazis, so back to the battlefield he went.

A few years’ delay—perfect.

Before Mordo left, Su Ming swiped his magical beard wax. A boss needed grooming, right?

Watching Mordo go, Su Ming realized idleness drew the Ancient One’s attention.

Time to slip away to another world.

One universe piqued his curiosity—its tech could crack Kang’s locks. He’d grab it.

On a dark, windy night, telling only Gin, Su Ming set off for the stars.

Gin watched his boss, fully armed, slice his arm and vanish from the office.

He had a secret to share, but Su Ming always cut him off, as if guessing but refusing to hear.

Gin sighed. His boss was too clever, shutting him down without a word.

A universe near Marvel and DC, with a complex Multiverse, displayed a green-white smiley face and code on its wall.

Su Ming warned Stranglehold to brace for the world wall breach. Heat-averse, it should hide.

Stranglehold wanted to toughen up, build heat resistance.

Fine. Su Ming plunged into the Multiverse, aiming for a specific single universe.

He found it—a world wall faintly showing a mechanized planet. He moved toward it.

This Earth had seen odd events.

1897, U.S. National Arctic Expedition.

They’d trekked the snowfields for ages with little to show. Labeled scientific, it was more an adventure.

Not on floating icebergs but Greenland’s northern tip, solid rock beneath snow.

They sought gold or gem veins, or unseen creatures—valuable finds fueling exploration.

Now, only endless white and potential tundra below.

Worthless.

Howling winds nearly froze their heavy sleds.

Frost coated exposed beards and brows. Sled dogs panted steam, the team chugging like a smoky train across the ice.

Food and fuel dwindled. Harsh conditions claimed five members. Dreams of riches crumbled in the cold reality.

Without valuable finds soon, this government-funded expedition might lose future chances.

Captain Witwicky, the leader, wouldn’t quit. He sensed something priceless ahead.

"Work hard, lads! No sacrifice, no reward!"

In a place where hot water was treasure, seeking greater riches seemed mad. But as captain, he had to rally them. If their spirit broke, they’d stay in this snowy grave.

"Boss! Something ahead!"

The team shouted. The lead dogs, scouting for ice crevasses to prevent disaster, began barking and charging forward.