Speaking of Namor, he had almost no presence at all. For decades, he had quietly holed up somewhere on the seafloor in seclusion.
When Su Ming first went exploring in the Savage Land of Antarctica, he ran into Ulysses Bloodstone's expedition team. Namor's cousin Namorita had been in that group, and Su Ming had even asked her how her cousin had been doing lately.
The answer was that Namor had become strange and moody, with wildly unpredictable emotions.
That was hardly a problem. Pick anyone at random from Arkham, and their condition would be worse than his, so Su Ming had not looked into it further.
Not long ago, during the multiversal collision, Doom went to Earth-616 to impersonate another version of himself. Namor from that world had appeared then, which reminded Su Ming of the Namor on his own Earth, but he had merely smiled knowingly. Nothing more.
But he had not expected 40K's Namor to be so petty. So what if some Mage in London had turned his dick into a nine-section whip, and then Deathstroke had shattered every bone in his body? Was that really worth holding a grudge over until now?
Then again, it made sense. If Su Ming put himself in Namor's place—sitting alone in a pitch-black palace at the bottom of the sea for decades, doing nothing but reliving all the pain he had suffered—he would probably grow angrier the more he thought about it too.
Set was a serpent god, and there was a kind of snake called a sea snake, so he truly could establish a connection with Namor.
In the black seawater, who knew how many Serpent Crowns the serpent god had handed out to the Atlanteans? Things might have turned into another case of the entire population doing missions. That