After downing a glass of liquor, Doomsday Blues's mental state visibly improved. The aftereffects from the backlash of his failed spell were now greatly suppressed.
Alcoholism might be an illness, but alcohol itself had its positive aspects.
It could disinfect and kill bacteria, numb the nerves, provide a sense of pleasure, and even be used to start fires.
Constantine from Another World had an equally severe dependence on alcohol. Accordingly, once he consumed it, he became like an addict whose craving had been satisfied—quick-witted and full of energy.
Adding fuel to the flames could always unleash tremendous energy. Though he knew he was like firewood in a furnace, and burning faster was no good thing, he could not worry about that now.
"The timing really isn't ideal. I didn't want to fight you, Batwoman." Doomsday Blues sighed, setting his glass on the bar before seriously rolling up his sleeves. "But since all those trash teammates of mine are dead, I can only find a way to drag you down to Hell with me."
"Hurry up. You don't have much time."
As though he had not heard the threat, Zorn continued smiling as he urged him on. He even lowered his raised arms, huddling inside his Cloak and standing there like a wooden post, waiting for the mage's attack.
This time, Doomsday Blues became serious as well. Since he intended to perish together with his enemy, he would use his most powerful magic.
He would sacrifice his soul and all his flesh to cast a spell capable of slaying a god.
What a pity. This spell had originally been prepared for that Otherworld Deathstroke, but that man had vanished without a trace, while Batwoman had delivered herself to his doorstep instead.
At that thought, Doomsday Blues suddenly laughed. He viciously bit