After gathering a large number of bones, Su Ming found some plastic and wooden boards and lashed together a raft. Disguised as a local native, he drifted with the waves across the sea.
There was no sun overhead. That glowing mechanical star was likely Darkseid's Sepulk. Only after entering the Spectre Universe did he realize just how absurdly enormous it was.
If it was a lifeboat, why had Darkseid made it so large?
And since he could clearly survive alone, why had he dragged along so many planets and mortals?
Now, Darkseid was not the only one full of questions about the fake Highfather. Deathstroke also had doubts about Darkseid's actions.
He did not think the Dark Tyrant needed cannon fodder or logistical support. Darkseid had never cared about such things. Take Parademons, for instance. To him, having them was fine—the more the better—but having none was equally inconsequential.
Darkseid did not care much about followers or assistants either. Back on Apokolips, he had indeed possessed a super-team called the Dark Elite, but with the Fire Pit, Darkseid could create New Gods whenever he wanted. No subordinate was irreplaceable.
Yet he had previously altered the memories of the people in the Spectre Sector, making Cyborg and the other two be seen as gods. In the end, he had truly turned all three into New Gods. It looked as though he had planned this all along.
As he watched the bones bubble in the crude furnace, countless thoughts flashed through Su Ming's mind. Possibility after possibility was raised, then dismissed.
The greatest point of doubt lay here. Darkseid had killed Jessica but transformed the other three who had traveled with her. What was the difference between them?
A breeze gradually blew over the sea, stirring the makeshift sail assembled from rags