"Bad luck, damn bad luck!"
The moment Bobo saw Deathstroke bring his cousin into the bar, he threw the white towel from his shoulder onto the floor. Wearing an utterly unwelcoming expression, he let out a gorilla-like cry:
"Slade, why did you bring him to my bar again? The air in here is ruined. I might still have business tonight!"
This was Bobo's home. When he was not on a mission, he lived in the bar. Even after their last operation together, he had not forgotten Deadpool's destructive power.
That Human Cannonball nonsense, that body-fragrance attack—he simply could not forget it.
"Why are you being so heartless, little ape? I thought we'd been friends for ages." Deadpool casually took an upside-down chair from a table and sat on it with a plop. Who knew what organ he had crushed inside himself? "Besides, you don't have a single customer here today. You have no business at all."
Just as Deadpool said, the tavern was completely empty. Even the electric fan overhead had stopped spinning. Only the jukebox by the door weakly played a country song.
That one—Country Roads, Take Me Home.
Multiverse 1 moving into the Marvel Universe was naturally no big deal to ordinary people, since nothing much had changed in their daily lives.
But for the sorcerers, many had suffered terribly, especially those who used the power systems of Heaven and Hell. Now that two generations of God were clashing, their souls were bouncing around like they were dancing on a blade's edge.
Who would still be in the mood to come here, drink, and brag under such circumstances? Wouldn't they hurry home to write their wills first, then do something to make up for their regrets?
If people could still move before they died, many would want to