The elevator car was spotless. There was not so much as a trace of blood, not even a hint of dampness, as though everything that had just happened had been an illusion.
The lights overhead were bright, and the air carried the scent of perfume. A lovely checkered carpet lay neatly in the center of the car, while the floor-selection control panel gleamed from being polished.
In theory, there was no need to take an elevator to the second floor, but Su Ming had led his student all the way here without finding any sign of a stairwell.
It was as if someone had hidden all the stairs.
But it did not matter. To Su Ming, this world was simply a passageway. Whichever path they took, they would pass through safely; the outcome would not change.
He pressed the button for the second floor and watched its yellow ring light up. Deathstroke did not even draw a weapon. He merely stood calmly in front of the elevator doors, waiting for the hotel to make its move.
First, the elevator went out of control. The buttons for every floor lit up and went dark in sequence, spinning through their pattern like an old bulb-lit sign. The elevator lurched repeatedly between crushing weight and weightlessness, shooting up and plunging down.
On the way up, it felt as though it would blast into the sky; on the way down, as though it would fall into Hell. The lights inside the car turned red, and a bloodlike liquid began seeping from the walls.
The once-beautiful cedar panels started to rot and grow mold. Spider Web spread across the corners, and the air filled with the stench of decay.
Yet Deathstroke and his student remained firmly where they stood, with no intention of even shifting