"Ah."
Only then did the Sister let out a sigh. With her here, Deathstroke had never needed to worry about mistaking the wrong person. What he had deliberately told the servitor had merely made the man die with even more resentment and unwillingness.
This was no merciful release at all, but torture for the soul. He seemed exceptionally skilled at tormenting others.
But the Primarchs came in every kind: bloodthirsty, sinister, savage. So long as a trait helped humanity survive in the universe, they possessed it.
"Stop sighing." Su Ming wiped the blood from his greatsword on his forearm. "Your tail is about to die, and we've captured an escort ship. We now have a way off this world. You should be happy."
Watching the Inquisitor and her subordinates approach without a clue on the surveillance feed, Efferal slowly shook her head. "She's someone I know. My first mission was with her. She saved my life and the lives of my Sisters."
"That was in the past. She saved you because you were tools of the church; today, she's here to kill you because the church wants better tools. This has nothing to do with personal grudges. It's just work."
Su Ming had seen this sort of thing countless times. What street thug in Gotham hadn't bled for their gang and earned some merit? Yet when their boss killed them to keep their mouths shut, it was often only because he did not want Batwoman following the trail of clues.
In the end, it was all about profit. Their past brotherhood and plastic sisterhood were just things to hear and forget.
"Let me talk to her, please? I'm begging you."
Efferal still clung to a sliver of hope. Perhaps she retained some confidence in human relationships, or perhaps she believed