For humanoids, the head was always a fatal weak point, and Thanos's palm was especially large. A human head in his hand fit as neatly as a small orange in an ordinary person's grasp.
Hela, standing behind Deathstroke, rolled her eyes and tucked the Blade of Night back into her black cloak. She had known Deathstroke's plan had been overkill. In reality, there had been no need for all four of them to act, nor had there been any chance to do so.
The opponent appeared to be a spellcaster. Once Thanos, carrying the Power Stone, got close to him, wouldn't he die in the blink of an eye?
Still, this was fine. The less she had to do, the better. Otherwise, she would have to take a bath when she got home, cutting into her video game time.
"Did you find anything? Uh, tell Strangle to suck more quietly, okay? Can it stop making slurping noises?"
It was not that the wet, sucking sounds of the tentacles inside someone else's skull disgusted her or anything. It just sounded like someone desperately using a straw to suck up the last bit of yogurt from the bottom of a cup.
More importantly, Strangle sounded like it was enjoying its meal so much that the Orange Cat in her arms started acting up again. Its eyes were wide as bells, its little tongue hung out like a dog's, and drool dripped down with a patter.
Otherwise, things were fine. Practical Carol did not mind missing her chance to fight. She was more concerned with what Deathstroke could see through Strangle. There should be vital intelligence in this dead man's memories, right?
"Hmm, this guy lived for three hundred thousand years. Not exactly young." Su Ming patted the cloak and had it descend