Albera had intended to put in a few words for Deathstroke and persuade Lucifer to go back and lend a hand, but the mercenary pressed a hand to her shoulder, stopping her from speaking.
Deathstroke merely smiled at Satan. "Then let's discuss terms, shall we? Before that, I want to ask you something. Do you really hate God, hate Yahweh, hate Jesus?"
"Without question. Satan originally means the Dragon, the Great Enemy. He hates me, and I hate him. Your soul may come from Another World, but you should have read the Bible as well, shouldn't you?"
Though he said so, Lucifer was clearly intrigued.
It was practically an occupational hazard for devils. The moment they heard sensitive words like "deal," "terms," or "contract," they got excited.
Su Ming pulled out his phone, found a photo in his gallery, and slid it across the bar.
"Then how about I trade you a corpse of Jesus in exchange for your help? You can treat him like a blow-up doll, or chop him into filling and make Italian dumplings. It's entirely up to you. I only need you to help me fight The Batman Who Laughs."
Lucifer fell silent. He did not quite believe that a mortal could kill Jesus Christ, but his body was honest enough; he pulled the phone over and took a look.
The Wilson Titanium Phone felt great in the hand, and Satan's pale, slender fingers were a perfect match for its silver metal casing. Even the simple act of him using the phone looked breathtakingly beautiful. It was just that strange.
Then he broke into a delighted smile.
"You killed one of the old man's avatars? That's practically a miracle. I'm curious: was that hole in his forehead made by a gunshot? And why was he wearing