"Your Majesty Emperor, I'm here to discuss terms."
Su Ming called out to him by using energy to vibrate space, because there was no air in the Webway to begin with. It was the Emperor's psychic power that made the people here believe they could breathe.
"Deathstroke."
The giant's figure crossed a thousand miles in an instant. Before that cold voice even reached Su Ming's ears, two gleaming golden legs had already appeared before him.
Calling him a Titan would not have been an exaggeration. This mountain-like body was clearly not human flesh.
When the Emperor blinked, stars flickered in and out. When he spoke, it was like a cold wind striking the face. An indescribable pressure descended onto Deathstroke's shoulders. Strangle felt no weight, but Su Ming felt as though he were carrying the entire universe, his heart pounding wildly.
He had experienced this feeling before. Back when he destroyed the Third Dimension in DC, it had felt exactly like this when he used a giant magical hand to catch reality.
Countless concepts—time, space, life, death—all rested upon one person's shoulders.
Cloak, full and asleep, trembled once. The next instant, all that pressure vanished as though nothing had happened.
"I never expected the Webway to be like this. How much of what surrounds us is real, and how much is illusion?"
As Su Ming spoke, he reached out to touch the Emperor's greave. The humans around them were still fighting fiends, as though they could not see them at all. Perhaps both sides had entered different subplanes.
"Everything is real, yet everything is false," the Emperor answered.
Deathstroke's hand passed through empty air, grasping nothing but ripples of light.
As the illusion wavered, that sacred body abruptly shrank. He became an ordinary man—strong and young.
Instead, his hand landed