After sending the two children off to play computer programming games, Doom raised both hands under the dim lights and slowly clenched his fists, as though he were gripping fate itself.
His reflective voice came from behind his mask:
"They say babies do not form memories until several years after they begin speaking, but that does not apply to Doom. Yes, Victor Von Doom had memories even before his birth. That miserable life that tried so hard to make Doom submit yet never succeeded—Doom remembers every moment of it. Every farewell, every sacrifice, every act of vengeance carried out by Doom's own hand. Ah."
"Mm-hmm, I understand how important your mother is to you. Last time we investigated, Mephisto said he had sold her soul to someone else. Then we found Satannish, and it said it had resold it."
Souls were valuable in Hell, especially the souls of powerful spellcasters. Doom's mother, Cynthia Von Doom, had been a gypsy witch, but she had also been one of the finest among her people. Deathstroke recounted the fruitless search from last time.
"We went through all the major Hells and never found your mother's soul. But today is different. We have another way."
"Doom is listening."
His mother had vanished because she had sold her soul to a demon in exchange for power. Though Doom was powerful, finding someone was different from killing someone. It was not something that could be solved just by having bigger fists.
"Because Death is here today."
Without putting on airs, Deathstroke went straight to the solution. He smiled at Second Sister beside him. Even underground, she held her little umbrella, smiling pleasantly.
"Think about it, Victor. A soul merely passes through Hell once. Demons feed on the sin within souls, like sipping baijiu from chopsticks. Once