Lobo, his eyes blazing red, loved this kind of interaction. He charged over and shook Deathstroke's hand, squeezing with all his strength as if trying to crush something, then grinned savagely.
"Fuck you, Deathstroke. How'd you get younger? But I'm still the universe's number-one Mercenary, so don't you fucking think about stealing this job from me."
"Heh. I'm not the Deathstroke you know. I'm from a Parallel Universe." Su Ming decisively crushed Lobo's hand into a cloud of bloody mist, creating a small shockwave in the air. "If you can talk, then say more. Otherwise, shut up and listen to me."
"You! I'm gonna fucking—fine, talk."
Lobo's attitude took an abrupt turn before he could erupt. It was not because he had lost their contest of strength, but because Deathstroke had somehow produced a stack of dolphin magazines in his free hand and was fanning himself with them.
Back on Earth-0, Joker had hired the Lobo from that side to bring people into Gotham's sewers for a meeting. Deathstroke had wiped them all out in one go and conveniently confiscated the "payment" Joker had prepared.
Su Ming did not understand what ocean animal magazines were worth, nor could he appreciate what was cute about dolphins. Still, after switching to a new dimensional bag, he had plenty of inventory space, so he had kept carrying them around.
And now they had come in handy, hadn't they?
Lobo was like sticky taffy—impossible to kill and impossible to shake off. He could survive even if thrown into the sun. He had even fewer limits than Little Cousin and was a genuine pain in the ass.
If it had been Wade, telling him he would be chopped into pieces and tossed into a cesspit would still have scared him a little. He had an