"Sir, what are you doing?"
That night, Su Ming, who had returned to New York during the day, brought his butler, Little Wong, to a fork in the road outside the academy.
The sky was full of stars, while the distant sound of waves rolled on without end. Deathstroke looked up at the sky as if calculating something, then, under Little Wong's puzzled gaze, used Godslayer to draw a circle on the ground.
"I owed someone a favor before, and now they're asking me for offerings."
As he answered Wong's question, Su Ming took out a lighter and lit a bundle of incense, casually sticking it into the snow-dusted ground.
Little Wong understood. Wasn't this worshipping the dead? No wonder his master had told him to bring the three sacrificial meats, fruits, and vegetables. It seemed the deceased had been very close to the Sorcerer Supreme.
"My condolences."
With great tact, Wong began arranging the offerings on plates and placing them within the circle. The golden, crispy roast suckling pig was set right in the middle.
Su Ming gave him an amused glance but said nothing. Instead, he pulled out a large bundle of joss paper from his waist pouch, along with all sorts of paper servants, paper horses, and brightly colored paper clothes.
He set them alight and muttered as they burned. Wong caught a few words and heard Deathstroke repeatedly saying things like:
"Hoggoth, here are the offerings I promised you. Don't use Dream Communication on me. It's damn annoying. Take this money and buy whatever you want. They're all big bills with a face value of one billion. This time, I'm burning you two young maidens, both catgirls. Next time, I'll burn you a female housekeeper."
And so on.
Little Wong could not help feeling a little