Little Dai's group withdrew first, but the ones who arrived after them were not the angels' Dimension Guard Legion, but the closer Deathstroke and Harley.
Harley wanted to watch the Golden City burn. No problem. He would burn it for her.
It was not an unreasonable request. It could even be called perfectly reasonable. Having spent time in Gotham, she knew very well that if one wanted to create chaos, flames and explosions were indispensable.
Whether it was the heat or color of fire, or the smell of protein charring after it roasted corpses, all of it seemed capable of stirring different emotions within creatures of flesh and blood on an instinctive level.
Humans saw fire and felt safety and warmth, while many beasts saw fire and felt fear. Harley did not want to burn down the city. What she wanted to see was how those aliens reacted amid the flames.
That was the profession she loved as a psychologist.
Carol and Diana were not the sort to enjoy setting fires. Wade probably would not mind, but his brain-cancer-induced amnesia could easily lead to him setting fires in every direction and roasting their own people like suckling pigs.
Deathstroke had to handle this himself—or perhaps not?
Strangle extended several hundred tentacles, each holding a Napalm Bomb. Then the tentacles moved at once, dropping bombs onto nearly every building around the square.
In an instant, this glittering golden place became a hellish sea of fire. The angels who had fainted in the square sweated madly in the open space at the center of the flames, as if they were taking a sauna.
Around the corpses of the slain Dark Elves, Deathstroke stuffed a flamethrower into one hand, a lighter into another, and a torch into yet another.
In short, all the