Archimonde was quite powerful, but he had no intelligence on Deathstroke, and he held no advantage in strength. Those were the reasons for his defeat.
He did not know what Cosmic Energy was, nor did he know what Tenth Metal was. His fel spells were all blocked by that black Cloak, so when faced with a tactic of a thousand cuts, he quickly lost his mind.
Deathstroke had not sought to kill him in a single blow. Demons possessed tremendous vitality; what he needed was for his opponent to hate him, fear him, and lay the groundwork for future plans.
He whirled around his enemy at comet-like speed, shaving away strips of flesh with his greatsword. In just a few seconds, Archimonde had been chopped up like a spotted dog.
Large green blotches appeared across his originally blue-green skin. The wounds were packed so densely that they could trigger trypophobia, and even one of his prized beard hairs had been cut off.
He roared furiously and detonated the fel energy beneath the ground. The violent earthquake even permanently altered Shadowmoon Valley's terrain, yet the human he had regarded as an insect remained completely unharmed.
His opponent seemed immune to magic, while his massive fists could not hit him. Whether he summoned a rain of fire or cast curses, the human beneath that black-and-yellow armor feared none of it.
After roaming the stars for so many years, he had never encountered such a disgusting enemy. The fact that someone could resist fel energy with flesh alone was even more incomprehensible.
It was like throwing a strand of hair into magma: the hair remained unharmed and instead pierced through the volcano's crater. The sheer absurdity of it was unbearable.
No matter what he thought, the scales of battle kept tipping toward the