Su Ming issued the command with action: attack.
The city's arrays were all set up—just this last step to go. Retreating now would an all their prior work was for nothing.
He wouldn't stand for that.
No matter how many enemies there were, even if it ant genocide today, he'd carve the array's center into this hall's floor and blast the city into the abyss.
He imdiately made Godslayer flare with bright light. For deep-sea creatures, light was a double-edged sword.
Their eyes couldn't handle the glare, but they'd also be drawn to a strong beam from miles away. Anglerfish—lanternfish—used that trick to hunt.
For now, though, the light just bought Su Ming ti. He saw the Trenchers' pupils shrink fast, turning into tiny dots.
He knew the light tactic worked.
So he followed up with flashbangs. His custom stock wasn't just waterproof—they popped off underwater with full effect.
Only problem was, after a few moves, he'd burned through them all. Back in Marvel, he'd used up his grenades and C4. Now the flashbangs were gone too.
He'd never restocked—regular gear wasn't worth his ti.
Fireballs were great, but useless underwater.
Still, there was one reliable thod anyti, anywhere: body and blade.
One hand on Nightfall, the other on Godslayer, he charged through the door.
As the two godly weapons danced, the water started clouding up.
Fishman guts and blood floated with the currents.
Daniel opted to block the door. Good thing the sword had cut a one-person gap—he could hold it.
His blazing hellfire trident shredded the fishn, turning them to ash on contact.
Sure, seeing stuff burn underwater was weird, but who said this world wasn't nuts?
Superman could juggle the moon for fun—why couldn't Blue Devil torch things down here? Hellfire was that stubborn. As long as Hell existed, it'd burn wherever it damn well pleased.
Underwater? Sure. Vacuum of space? You bet.
anwhile, Nightshade actually slipped past Blue Devil and rushed inside with a bold plan.
Since they were setting up an array, why not "test-run" it? Shove these endless Trenchers into the Shadow Dinsion first.
She waved a hand, opening a small portal. A Trencher lunging for her, expecting a al, got swallowed by the black hole that popped up instead.
The Shadow Dinsion wasn't a nice place—nothing but shadows, pure black all the way.
Spinning like a top, Su Ming was hacking away in a frenzy. Venom sprouted tendrils from his back, snapping Trencher necks like corn on the cob.
Catching Nightshade casting shadow spells while closing in, Su Ming got her play right off.
Solid idea.
No one knew how many Trenchers there were. He and Venom could kill forever, but it'd waste ti with no room for error.
If Nightshade opened a portal by the hole in the floor, the Trenchers would dive into the Shadow Dinsion themselves, trapped there.
The Shadow Dinsion was Nightshade's turf—easy in, but getting out needed magic, and the Trench clan were all grunts.
So he moved toward her, ready to guard her while she set up.
Just then, with Nightshade deep inside, her back wide open, so Trenchers spotted their shot and pounced.
Eyes are up front, back's a blind spot—surely they wouldn't miss this ti, right?
Normally, yeah, Nightshade might've been toast. Sorceresses were fragile—backstabs were trouble.
But Eve wasn't alone now. She wasn't alone.
Lori was physically bonded to her.
As a symbiote, Lori had her back covered. When the Trenchers struck from behind, she stretched out tendrils just like Venom.
Wrapped their necks, then yanked hard.
Through the vibrations, she felt their necks shatter. That black gooey thing's power was way scarier than she'd thought—mimicking it, she'd inherited the real deal.
Snapping necks didn't kill instantly, but cutting the brain-body nerve link was a killer move for anything with a spine.
These fishn turned into "plant-fish" on the spot.
Lori found it fresh. Usually, mimicking soone, she'd kill with magic or superpowers.
Wiping out a hundred at once was easy, but "personally" snapping necks? You couldn't feel that standing far off.
Her killing itch got louder—hunger and other urges too.
With their teamwork, black tendrils and magic swirled through the water, and they linked up with Su Ming smooth.
"Good job," Lori sent Eve a thought.
"You too. Thanks for watching my back," Eve shot one back.
"Nah, it's what I'm here for."
"...You're great."
"Hehe, you... you're pretty great too..."
The two girls started passing ntal notes, all shy and flustered.
So Su Ming quickly noticed—they were spacing out again.
???
What the hell? Weren't they all badass rushing in? Why were they suddenly standing there, all coy and fidgety?
On a battlefield—heads down, toes tracing circles, fingers twisting together—that sure didn't look like array-casting.
He had Venom smack their heads to snap them out of it.
Man, he was beat. How'd Nightmaster ever lead these won into fights?
Eve jolted awake from the hit. Right—battlefield, not the ti for that.
She eyed the hole still spitting out Trenchers, figuring how to get close.
She needed to hook the Shadow Dinsion passage to that opening.
But turns out, they just had to stick behind the legendary rc.
Seeing them snap to, Su Ming shook his head a little. No super-brain? Then don't overthink mid-fight.
Just a ntal grumble, then he charged the hole.
Blue Devil swam over too. Everyone was inside—guarding the door was pointless now, so he'd cover the rear.
In the murky water, all he could see was the trident's lit patch. Limbs and chunks drifted by now and then.
A brain with half an eyeball splatted on his face. He swiped it off fast.
He took a deep breath—still just sulfur in his nose. He used to hate this suit's curse, but now he was kinda glad.
Without that familiar brimstone stink, he'd have puked in this blood soup.
How many fishn had Deathstroke offed in ten seconds flat? Two hundred? Three? Too many to count—just that black-and-yellow blur pushing forward.
Where he went, it was like a storm had blown through.
Those black and yellow swords blurred with afterimages. Any Trencher brushing a shadow lost a body part instantly.
All fatal—Deathstroke's strikes were fast and dead-on. Before they even got close, his blades were waiting.
Lots of fishn looked like they'd ramd themselves onto his weapons—chests and heads catching the steel.
Was that all in Deathstroke's math?
Blue Devil watched, heart pounding, and yeah, he started zoning out too.
The Trenchers in the hall thinned out—array setup was a go. Nightshade jumped into focus amid the chaos.
Su Ming and Blue Devil stuck close, slashing down any Trenchers that got near.
He wasn't Aquaman—"respect for sea races" was worth squat.
His rule was simple: blockers die. Why keep unstable trash like the Trench clan around? Wipe them out.
Truth is, Su Ming knew the Trench were one of Atlantis's secret weapons. They wouldn't dream of scrapping them.
With Poseidon's Trident in hand, these sea lunatics hit wherever you pointed—destructive as hell.
Sure, Su Ming mowed them down like mosquitoes, but he was a juiced-up Deathstroke. The main-world old-man version wouldn't have it this easy.
Against regular folks? Forget it. Minus infection powers, they'd outclass a zombie horde.
Thick, slick scales and skin—bulletproof. Strength worth ten normal guys, driven by endless hunger.
If you ruled a nation, you'd have a super-force you didn't need to babysit—just let them fend like stray dogs.
Then, at crunch ti, wave a bone, and they'd clinch your win. Would you ditch them over "humanitarian" gripes?
Arthur'd been here once and even thought about curing or caging the Trenchers. ra hauled him out fast—said they were ex-Atlanteans, how tragic and dangerous they were, keep people away.
Arthur tried arguing, but ra dragged him off, told him to shut up and kiss her.
ra wanted to keep a trump card for Atlantis. If they ever clashed with Amazons or humans, the sea'd have a killer army.
Beauty won—Arthur got distracted. One kiss from ra, and he forgot everything.
They weren't married yet then, but girlfriend's always right. ra was smarter than him anyway.
Arthur figured since they were kin once, leave them be. Living in the trench, they weren't hurting the world, right?
So good-guy Arthur listened to ra, went topside to drink and crash, leaving the Trench clan stashed in the deep sea.
Until Orm grabbed Poseidon's Trident and led the Trench army to hit the surface—human casualties piled up fast.
Arthur had no choice—beat Orm, took the throne, married ra, brought peace.
But Orm was his brother. Arthur couldn't kill him—just locked Ocean Master in a Poseidonia tower with Batman-funded prothium super-chains.
The Trench army? ra wouldn't let him kill them either. He just used the trident to herd them back here.
That's why Arthur didn't want the "Seven Seas King" gig. It sucked.
His word barely counted—wifey called the shots. He was a mascot on a throne, no fun at all.
ra was good to him, sure, but on state stuff, she got all serious and stubborn, with so Atlantis-first vibes. La.
Humans were hitting space while Atlantis was stuck underwater—folks couldn't even take UV without armor. Where's the superiority co from?
Plus, Arthur never got ruler training. He was a sailor, a lighthouse keeper's son—no interest in thrones, just nonstop petty crap.
Take this case: a resident, Berekalortuva, accidentally ate his neighbor Hunakarinamos's fish. Atlantean court ruled the first guy owed the second an identical fish.
He couldn't cough one up, so he ca to the throne to plead for another paynt option.
That's Aquaman's job—throne judgnt, a king's sacred right and duty since forever.
Arthur could skip it, but then the whole nation'd call him a slacker king, even dragging his mom's rep down.
The case wasn't even complicated, but those nas alone gave him a migraine. It's just a fish! Few bucks at the market—I'll buy you one, good?
Nope. The king had to judge fair.
"A new fish isn't the sa fish. Fish are fish, sure, but they're different. You can't say they're the sa just 'cause they're the sa type. Actually, that fish you think's the sa? Totally different from the old one. Oh, and the dead fish had a cozy na—Slakuhudvasas."
The high judge lectured Arthur for hours, making damn sure the king got Atlantis's laws' weight and gravity before letting him off.
Arthur had no other thoughts—just wanted to die.
Right then, he felt being king was way worse than sticking with the Justice League as a hero.
Out there, smacking small-ti crooks—or getting smacked by big ones.
But he was happy!
Batman says charge, he charges. Diana says chop, he chops.
After, they'd all grab food, drink, and brag—ten thousand tis better than the seafloor!
Can you smoke, drink, or get a perm down there? Nope.
His long, wavy hair made him look wild and rugged—pure man—but it wasn't natural curls. Human barbers did that.
And booze? Couldn't live without it. He loved chugging a bottle of hard stuff, smashing it, then striding into crashing waves, leaving Batman a badass silhouette.
So he handed the crown to ra. In Atlantean law, queen regent was legal—that damn code had so humanity left.
He took his Aquaman trident back to the surface—to roll with his Justice League crew, fight for bigger goals.
And, y'know, live happy.
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