Lord Mar-Vell had a solid foundation to begin with, and after gaining the boost of the Old Ones' power, he flew even faster. By the time he vanished from the spot, Deadpool was still standing there in a daze, holding the oversized Golden Wine Cup.
He lowered his head and sniffed the contents. Seeing several maggot-like tentacles writhing wildly in the slurry of flesh and blood, he curled his lip in disgust.
"What a trip you can just up and leave on. First time I've seen someone volunteer so eagerly to die." He poured out the bloody pulp from the cup and kept the Golden Cup as loot. "Luthor, looks like my Cousin's plan is wrapping up. Are you still going over there? Seems unnecessary. This Lord guy is definitely dead."
Luthor, clad in purple-and-green battle armor, calmly walked in through the door. He began scavenging through Mar-Vell's bedroom as he replied evenly:
"No. I have great faith in Deathstroke, though his plan still got there a step ahead of mine. Tch, just a few seconds. Oh well, let's grab some benefits and call it a day."
Luthor had once thought that Deathstroke was like a hyena, someone who only snatched gains from unfolding events. In the end, Luthor himself had become a hyena.
Thinking back, Luthor had once been quite lavish. He never searched corpses, never picked up other people's equipment, and certainly never looted homes.
But reality had broken his back. Sure enough, killing others and taking their spoils was the quickest way to profit. The methods for getting rich and strong really were all written into criminal law.
Still, he had his principles. Golden Wine Cups, golden candlesticks, golden shoehorns—he wanted none of that. He did not lack money, so Deadpool could take all those things.
What