Standing to one side, Death watched different colors of light flare up across Deathstroke's body in succession. The symbiote armor was enveloped in layers of iridescent light films, and she could also sense the surging emotions hidden beneath his void-like calm.
Death was the embodiment that understood human emotions best, because whenever someone died, the people around the deceased would always display all sorts of emotions. It was quite interesting.
Her gaze also fell upon the Golden Lightsaber that could make her feel fear.
It was a type of weapon she had never seen before. It should have been a beam of light, yet it also seemed like some sort of living thing, filled with the purest impulse toward brutality. It possessed the childlike innocence of a child tearing the wings off a dragonfly, as well as the malicious intent of some fantasy from beyond the heavens.
For some reason, Death felt that Deathstroke was controlling it with his mind rather than his body. The weapon itself yearned to sever flesh, extinguish souls, and destroy rules.
She opened her mouth, wanting to persuade Deathstroke not to resort to violence. Hurting Eternity meant hurting the concept of space, and if he accidentally killed Eternity, all space throughout the entire Multiverse would collapse in an instant.
Like an exquisite glass bottle falling to the ground and shattering into powder, everything it contained would be impossible to recover.
At that point, the end of the world would inevitably descend. The Seventh Firmament would end, and everything would return to the Cosmic Egg to await the beginning of a new age.
But if that happened, even Death was not sure whether she herself would still exist in the next cycle.
In the end, however, she lowered her raised skeletal claw and said nothing.
Because