"Drip, drip."
As Deathstroke began carefully grilling the meat, a light rain started falling overhead. Since he was roasting it beneath a tree, the Little Black Panthers sprawled among the branches were all drooling, their saliva dripping onto Deathstroke or beside his feet.
"You were all kings of Wakanda in the past. Maybe you didn't live in absolute luxury every day, but you definitely ate well enough. So why are you staring at roasted camel hump?" Su Ming was waiting for the Leopard God to catch the scent and come home. Bored, he chatted with the reincarnated souls. "This is for your god, not for you. Shoo, shoo. Don't disturb my grilling."
Strictly speaking, the Leopard God's act of holding onto these dead souls and turning them into panthers so they could achieve immortality here was against procedure. They should have belonged to Lady Death. Whether they went to Hell to suffer or reincarnated directly was all up to that woman.
But as mentioned before, this was more a case of no complaint, no investigation. Death rarely bothered with such matters.
Something like Odin's Hall of Heroes, where he temporarily held back so many Einherjar in preparation for Ragnarök, was another matter entirely. That was part of a deal between him and Death, so there was no need to mention it.
All in all, upon careful thought, it seemed that any being doing reasonably well could skim something off the cycle of souls.
He turned the iron skewer in his hand, making the camel hump rotate, while Strangle evenly sprinkled seasoning over it. Watching the fat slowly turn golden and crisp over the flames, it really did smell pretty good.
"We know. We're just looking. Slurp!"
One black panther said that, but his drool still dripped uncontrollably onto Deathstroke's shoulder.