Losing his mind and turning into a Berserker would certainly grant some advantages in physical combat—greater strength, immunity to pain, and a frothing, ferocious expression disgusting enough to make enemies reluctant to touch him.
But for a god, giving up thought was tantamount to being finished. Without Pralaya's support behind the scenes, Amo had already been like duckweed without roots. Now, he had lost his last remaining advantage.
The distant red sun illuminated this barren planet without an atmosphere. Its deathly silent surface was indeed suitable for a graveyard. Sound transmission in a vacuum was troublesome, and Su Ming could not be bothered to say anything more to his opponent.
Facing the god charging at him, Deathstroke had already seen through his plan. He wanted nothing more than to take them both down together.
But as he had said before, Amo simply did not have that kind of strength now.
Pralaya was dead, so Dark Concepts could be used without concern again. It instantly turned the Golden Lightsaber pitch-black. Then Su Ming performed a small leaping slash, passing by the charging enemy.
The exchange took only an instant. Amo had never been his match to begin with. A forgotten god should have stayed obediently inside a dusty box of history.
"And you dared to hit Donna? Don't you know half of a little sister-in-law's ass belongs to her brother-in-law?"
The lightsaber sank into his palm. The battle was already over. That leaping slash had looked like a single strike, but it had actually been countless strikes. Amo could no longer give any answer.
Amid trembling and the sound of gas flowing, his entire body shattered into small chunks of flesh scattered across the ground. They swiftly turned into chilled meat in the low-temperature environment.
"Strangle."
Su Ming had not been