Countless black tendrils flowed from Deathstroke's armor like tiny black worms. At a glance, it really looked as though his body were covered in black hair, which was somewhat unsettling.
But Strangle could only conduct its search this way with maximum thoroughness. As a pragmatist, Su Ming did not really care about his appearance—certainly not as much as his cousin did.
Wade's face might have been fucked up beyond belief, like a skinned donkey-dropping meatball mixed with minced flesh, thrown into a fryer, and bubbled up.
Yet every day after Deadpool woke up, he would spend ages in the bathroom staring into the mirror, practicing speeches, baring his teeth at his reflection while telling jokes, and constantly praising himself for being handsome.
Unless necessary, Su Ming never looked in mirrors. There was no point for a Symbiotes host, since he could make his appearance into whatever he wanted.
"Ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling."
While Strangle worked, turning the half of town under its host's responsibility into something resembling a horror movie set, Deathstroke sat leisurely at the dining table and played with the Music Box he had planned to give J'onn.
The style was somewhat old-fashioned. It was not electric, but the wind-up kind. Still, its tone was lovely, and the crisp music echoed through the empty room with a certain charm.
He did not know whether any Survivors had remained in this town when Lucifer saved it. Most likely not. Even if there had been, ordinary people would probably have gone mad on the spot after witnessing a battle of that level with their own eyes.
Not to mention anything else, ordinary people could go insane simply upon seeing Old Ones, unable to comprehend their existence and power. CAAT stood at an even higher level. Even if what descended had merely been