Raven called upon the magic pulsing through her bloodline, a power that was almost like a curse—utterly dark, utterly cold.
In the endless void of space, that realm of nothingness and chaos, it responded to her just as it had once answered her father.
Dense particles of dark magic gathered in her hands, and the same energy manifested in her eyes. Those once-sparkling orbs turned pitch black in an instant, like lifeless gems.
That's how demons roll.
This energy from another dimension would change her, making her cold and ruthless.
If she kept her spellcasting to a minimum, she'd stay a bit more lively and cheerful. But if she cast too often, she'd turn quiet and withdrawn.
Rachel locked her gaze onto Aquaman, unleashing her magic.
This was soul magic—formless, colorless, invisible. The so-called "killing with a look" worked exactly like this.
Aquaman faltered for a moment, a faint mist seeping from his features.
In the dim corridor of the spaceship, it was like a wisp of fog on a nighttime street—barely discernible.
The magic flopped.
The effects of soul magic were far from ideal—not even enough to give him a bad hair day.
But the spell caught Aquaman's attention, and now he seemed ready to take on the Titans first.
"Where you looking at? Face me!"
Su Ming's twin weapons snapped together like scissors, slashing crisscross toward Aquaman's waist.
A flurry followed—slashes, stabs, chops—then he switched to a different martial combo.
He kept Aquaman tied up at this not-too-close, not-too-far distance. If Aquaman wanted to go after anyone else, he'd have to get through Su Ming first—no chance.
But after Su Ming's rapid combo, it was the same old story: he only managed to carve away seawater.
Nightwing and Godslayer dripped with water, reflecting a wet sheen.
Aquaman's scaly armor scattered across the floor like cracked sunflower seed shells.
Yet the core of this alien sea god remained unscathed.
Raven's casting motions didn't escape Su Ming's notice—he even recognized the type of magic she used.
The conclusion was clear: this enemy's magic resistance was off the charts.
Physical attacks were useless too.
His ability to turn into a living element was a pain—worse than self-healing or immortality.
With the latter two, you could chop them up and fling the pieces to the other side of the universe, or hit up Marvel for some vibranium to test out.
But this guy? Not only did he master elementalization, he was a god—insanely strong, with ridiculous resistance.
Looked like they'd need to think outside the box.
The red eye on his mask flared brightly. This time, though, Su Ming's target wasn't the sea god's body—he went berserk on the armor instead.
Aquaman wore a three-piece set of chainmail that looked like dragon scales: tunic, pants, and a cape. It was thick and sturdy, making him look like a jacked-up snapping turtle.
But against Nightwing's blade, it might as well have been tissue paper.
Su Ming's new plan: strip him bare, then trash-talk him into a rage, forcing a wound-for-wound showdown.
When Aquaman went elemental, he couldn't attack at the same time. Turning liquid seemed like a reflex—or maybe some cosmic rule protecting him.
But that was also his limitation.
So, if Aquaman went full-on berserk, would that liquid trick stop working? Time to test it.
Su Ming had already decided to mock the guy's physical flaws.
Like how his little potbelly was too round, like fish poop. Or how his junk was so tiny it couldn't even compete with a sea slug.
Pick a fight on purpose—find a flaw even if there wasn't one.
In battle, any tactic was fair game. Sure, it looked dirty, but if it worked, it worked.
Besides, Su Ming didn't buy that any god in the universe was flawless.
Under the wild dance of his twin weapons, Aquaman was soon buck naked. His armor couldn't liquefy—it got mowed down like grass by Su Ming and couldn't hold up.
But mid-chopping, Su Ming tweaked his plan.
No need to taunt the guy's weaknesses anymore.
With sharp eyes and a quick mind, Su Ming noticed something: when Aquaman got hacked, he let his armor shatter like he didn't care.
But the second the attack aimed for his neck, he'd block or parry with his weapon.
At first, Su Ming figured he was just protecting his head—standard instinct for any living thing.
But with that elemental power, why bother?
Su Ming's gaze zeroed in on Aquaman's neck.
There hung a massive collar, like the jaws of a shark, lined with rows of jagged teeth—a calcium scarf of sorts.
Some sailors liked to yank shark teeth and hang them on their living room walls as proof of their exploits.
Usually, only the captain earned that privilege.
Regular crew just got a life preserver with the ship's name or a marlin they hooked at sea.
The best trophies went to the captain; the rest got split among the crew—that's the law of the sea.
Aquaman wasn't guarding his neck—he was protecting those fish teeth.
Su Ming didn't know what they were. Maybe a magical artifact, like Poseidon's trident or Zeus's "Thunderbolt."
Or maybe this alien sea god's symbol was just a busted jawbone.
Could be it was just a sentimental trinket too.
But still.
The enemy clearly valued this thing, and that made it a glaring weakness.
Deathstroke seized every chance.
With a shift of focus, Stranglehold redirected its aim from Aquaman's eyes to that necklace. Tendrils fired off rounds, bullets pelting the toothy relic.
Sure enough, Aquaman started dodging even the bullets. He wouldn't—or couldn't—let that fish-tooth collar take a hit.
Su Ming caught the panic in his enemy's eyes and grinned.
Anything with a conscious mind had a weak spot. You want to protect your little treasure? Let's see if Deathstroke agrees.
Aquaman's moves showed he didn't trust the collar's defenses. So Su Ming ditched Nightwing's greatsword, turned Godslayer into dual blades, and went ham on him.
No fancy moves—just trading blows for blood.
No matter how Aquaman fought back, Su Ming stayed glued to that collar.
Spears came inches from Su Ming's head plenty of times, but he didn't bother defending. Go ahead, bash my skull—I'm still chopping your trinket.
Su Ming had his Icon Armor; the helmet was solid, not to mention his X-Metal skull.
So let's trade.
You smash my helmet, I blow up your necklace.
But every time, Aquaman pulled his weapon back to block Su Ming's strikes at the ornament.
Suddenly, Aquaman was on the ropes, with no room to fight back.
Su Ming got smoother with every swing—wall-running slashes, ground-rolling stabs, chaotic bladework all aimed at that necklace.
Aquaman could only block or retreat, getting pushed toward the ship's edge.
Finally, the white-bearded old man couldn't take it anymore. He threw up his hands and unleashed a massive wave of seawater, crashing toward them like a tidal surge.
The corridor flooded like a toilet flush on steroids.
Stranglehold anchored Su Ming to the floor, not budging an inch, while the others clung to walls or ceiling protrusions.
Su Ming scanned the waves for the enemy, but when the water cleared, Aquaman was gone.
The white-bearded geezer was like a drowned Santa—showing up out of nowhere and vanishing just as fast, slipping through a "chimney."
Only this sea god's chimney was a vortex portal, and this Santa was the waterlogged kind—his gifts were trash no Earthling wanted.
Su Ming sheathed his blades. Stranglehold retracted to his skin, and his magic cloak unfurled in the air, settling back onto his shoulders.
He eyed the seawater still pooling on the floor, murky with debris and gunk—like sewer runoff. Disgusting.
Su Ming yanked off his helmet, lit a cigarette, and spat to the side.
"Guess you're quick on the getaway."
Starfire's already-wide mouth gaped wider. From Deathstroke's tone, was he saying he could've actually taken down the alien sea god if he hadn't bolted?
Of course, if Su Ming heard her thoughts, he'd admit he had zero confidence in that.
But the enemy was the one who ran—and without so much as a goodbye. Didn't that just hand Su Ming the perfect chance to talk tough?
The Titans looked beat. They needed a morale boost, paired with his god-slaying bravado, to keep them in line under his command.
All part of the playbook.
Nightshade and the others, who'd been watching from the sidelines, stepped up and greeted the Titans.
The Shadowpact crew mostly hung out in the magic scene, but both teams were around the same age, so plenty of them were buddies.
Except Blue Devil—he was too old, more like the nanny.
Su Ming finally had a sec to check out the ship's interior.
Not exactly falling apart, but definitely worn. It had that "secondhand sci-fi" vibe from Star Wars, except this ship screamed ocean-world aesthetic, inside and out.
The starship even had humidifiers, plus water pipes and valves everywhere.
So, these aliens needed about the same stuff as Earthlings—food, oxygen, water. Were they here to conquer Earth?
But how'd they split the pie with Lex Luthor?
Knowing Lex, that bald human-supremacist would sooner choke than let aliens live on Earth—like they were eating his personal stash of rice.
Bet he was just using these alien suckers. Once he got what he wanted, he'd serve them a boxed lunch—donkey-killing style.
Whether that lunch came with a drumstick would depend on Lex's mood.
Batman was off the grid too—no clue on the latest Earth intel. Su Ming could only guess based on experience: Lex and the aliens weren't on the same page.
That meant they had two—or more—separate goals.
Lex wanted to reboot Genesis. Flooding the Earth was the reverse of creation's first steps.
Whether he was after the Tear of Extinction or something else, it all fed into his grand scheme. The endgame never changed, even if the chaos did.
Best move: track down Lex and hit him with a few fireballs. But with no leads, Su Ming could only speculate on his next play.
Lex had everything else prepped. Only two steps left: creating animals and making people. That'd wrap up his anti-Genesis stunt.
If Su Ming had it right, Lex would target the Red of All Living next—wipe out the concept of existing animals. This flood would pretty much handle that.
Then it'd be down to making people.
Robots? Cyborgs? Clones?
Lex's tech tree was stacked, and with a Mother Box in hand, he could whip up whatever he wanted.
Guess he was disappointed in Earth's current humans. He saw himself as the sole embodiment of human will, ready to cook up a brand-new species.
Su Ming couldn't pin down where he was. Forget three rabbit holes—Lex was cagier than any bunny.
For now, Su Ming's play was to rally the troops, prep for the big showdown, and swipe whatever goodies Lex was gunning for right into his own pocket.