Multiverse: Deathstroke-Chapter 472: Aquaman’s Misery

The Joker knew this routine too well. Seeing it again, he was practically buzzing with glee.

Batman tosses flashbangs, Batman tosses smoke bombs, Batman vanishes into the dark.

Just like old times.

Stars danced in his eyes, but he stood there cackling, waiting for Batman to pop out from behind, pummel him 'til he tingled, then drag him to Gordon at the precinct.

But Batman didn't show. He was really gone.

"What are you clowns waiting for? Go get Batman," Lex barked at Grodd, Joker, and Sinestro, who acted like they had no clue.

Black Manta was off with the alien sea gods on another job. Circe was prepping the moon thing—not here either.

The rest? Zero teamwork vibes.

As Batman bolted, Sinestro just leaned on the wall, arms crossed, watching.

Sure, his beef was with Hal. Batman? That was Joker's circus—he wasn't touching that nutjob drama.

Joker snapped out of his daydream, pouting with a sour look.

Things were different. This wasn't Gotham.

Why didn't Batman clock him?

He glanced at Lex, sighing. The world had flipped—now he had to chase Batman? Lame.

But touring Justice Hall? Sweet. He'd never been since it was built.

Gotta check it out before it's toast. What a shame that'd be.

"Let's roll, ape, red-face—hide-and-seek with Batsy! Hahahaha!"

Su Ming had slipped into the coral maze.

After Harley tanked the vibe, that "noble sacrifice" act couldn't hold. He'd just shrugged, hopped off the ship, and headed solo for the reef.

From afar, it was whatever. Up close, though, the multicolored coral rocks had a wild, unique charm.

A peak surging from the seabed, towering over the water, rising in stepped tiers, corals stacked tight.

Majestic, a legit divine mountain. No buildings—just nature's raw craftsmanship.

At the base, a tiny port hugged the sea. He strolled over using his cape's mojo.

The disguise worked like a charm—overkill, even.

Fish folk bustling at the dock, loading gear or whatever, didn't even wait for his fake Aquaman 2.0 to get close. They hit the deck, kneeling.

Forget sniffing—they wouldn't dare peek.

Some bawled their eyes out; others clawed or jabbed their own eyes out.

Su Ming sucked in a mental breath.

This fanatical? One accidental glimpse of a god and they blind themselves? Were these "interstellar" players all blind already?

Their fear was a bonus, though. He swaggered into the reef's guts.

Felt like a fish himself now—surrounded by underwater vibes. He'd never wondered what little fish saw weaving through reefs.

Now he got it: a kaleidoscope of colors, like a water tunnel in an aquarium, thick with ocean scent.

But these corals were dead. Beyond the sea's splendor, it was cold, eerie dread.

Time to hunt—where was Aquaman locked up?

Asking was easiest, but voice diffs aside, he didn't speak alien. English would blow his cover instantly.

So, clue hunt it was. Any sign Aquaman left behind.

Expecting fairy-tale breadcrumb trails or yarn markers? Fat chance.

But one thing humans and Atlanteans shared?

Aquaman wouldn't surrender. He'd be cussing out those aliens.

Words might not click, but gestures and faces were universal. The aliens would snap, rough him up.

He was tanky, though—he'd curse harder. And to flex disdain, that roughneck had a nasty habit.

Su Ming clocked it back at the underwater ruins: when pissed, Aquaman spat.

Fair—always soaking underwater, then hitting dry land air. Throat and nose probs were a given. In the sea, spitting was free—hell, you could piss anywhere too.

Ban him from spitting on land? That's Atlantean discrimination.

Plus, spitting at foes was a warrior's go-to taunt. Even Hal did it.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

Standard mockery combo: "You brain-dead loser, come hit me! Gutless punk—ptooey!"

Nailed that, and the enemy's blood boils, losing it.

Key was the spit's delivery.

On the body? Passable. Face? Top-tier. Mouth? Critical hit!

Helmet off, Su Ming would've rocked this tactic too. Spit's cheap, right?

Wade pulled it all the time—just forgot to lift his mask half the time and ate it back.

Now Su Ming tracked that trail. Blood sputum, phlegm, whatever—fish folk didn't have that feature.

Upper respiratory mucus? To sea clan, maybe gill slime?

Either way, spit and snot were Earth-exclusive.

So fish folk saw a weird scene: Aquaman 2.0, silent and grim, prowling the temple halls, head down, hunting something.

Anyone kneeling too close? Slapped flying with a backhand.

After a few rounds, no one dared approach.

To them, post-nude fiasco, this sea god had lost it. Get near? Dead. Better hide.

Couldn't dodge? Kneel, gouge eyes, prove you're blind—never saw a thing.

That's the escape.

Su Ming, meanwhile, got more baffled.

These sea clan kept sliding into double-knee skids, blinding themselves on the spot, then shrieking off.

What was this? Ritual?

Blood splattered everywhere, mucking up his clue hunt. Annoying!

No wonder three sea gods dared invade Earth—cosmic bigshots had crashed and burned trying.

This gory, primal religious crap screamed low IQ.

Frustrated, Su Ming picked up the pace, climbing a spiral coral stairwell. Lower levels buzzed with fish folk—logistics hub vibes.

Higher up, fewer souls.

Finally, a trace.

Not spit—blood streaks.

The kind from someone knocked out, dragged across the floor, shoes or pants leaving twin red lines.

They stretched a bit, vanishing around a corner into a room.

Faintly, he caught interrogation noises—in English, no less.

Fish folk spoke English? Translation talent right there.

Curious, Su Ming slowed, creeping to the room, peeking through the door crack. Aquaman was strapped to a cross.

A shark-headed fish guy wielded a whip—some critter's spine—lashing Aquaman's beefy frame.

Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack!

Weird weapon, weird skill. This shark was a pro, turning it into an art form.

Even blind, the sound was a symphony—rain on leaves, pearls on jade, a relentless torrent.

Crack, crack-crack, crack-crack, crack, crack-crack-crack-crack!

Shark-head unleashed a lightning-fast combo—Su Ming dubbed it that—rhythmic as hell.

"Ahh!!! Ahh!!!" Aquaman howled, head thrashing.

"Earth's sea king, spill it—less pain for you!"

Besides shark-head, an octopus-head held a computer-like tablet, coaxing in English.

Aquaman stayed tough. Su Ming didn't get why he'd lost his durability and super strength—simple tools had him battered, barely hanging on.

But he spat out: "I don't know."

Gutsy. Hero material—enemy wants answers, he'd die first.

Su Ming was impressed. Aquaman's chest and back were shredded, yet he held firm.

Justice League Big Seven for a reason—pure grit. Tsk tsk.

He'd planned to bust in, but octopus-head's next line made him pause.

"Talk—the black-and-yellow human. Weaknesses?"

Octopus-head waved shark-head off, taking over.

Su Ming's face twisted. Black-and-yellow human? Me?

Why ask Aquaman? Torture Batman, and even he couldn't cough up Deathstroke dirt.

Sure enough, Aquaman drooped, muttering, "I really don't know. Ask me for centuries—still don't know!"

Despair, frustration, fury—he genuinely didn't know!

Octopus-head didn't buy it. That slimy, tentacled face sneered human-like, as if Aquaman was mocking their smarts.

"Liar! You said he's your friend—your little club's friend! Don't play us!"

He flicked a tentacle at shark-head, who stepped up, unleashing another whirlwind of lashes.

Aquaman's screams echoed in the dark, cramped cell again.