The pitch-black silver-edged giant sword sliced a Nazi soldier vertically in half, and Deathstroke glanced over at Wade's situation.
"Looks like he needs constant motivation with bullets; now he's running faster than a rabbit..." Deathstroke nodded in satisfaction, sensing Deadpool's unusual focus on the task, as if reborn, concentrating solely on cutting down enemies: "But he secretly pocketed Monac's dead rabbit earlier, what's he planning?"
The symbiote took the Godslayer, and the golden great sword sliced off a soldier trying to attack from behind. It then returned the weapon to Deathstroke, picked up an energy weapon from the ground, and began shooting.
It seems the thought of taking advantage of ranged combat is deeply ingrained in its genes, showing a preference for ranged attacks. Deathstroke can command it like a limb but can also let it move freely. Now, it was like Rambo in the first blood-filled scene, wielding two energy guns, continuously spraying down enemies behind Deathstroke.
It looked like it had grown extra arms, while the magic floating cloak looked like it was merely coasting along in comparison.
"Whatever, Deadpool can do whatever he likes... but his opponents, those monsters running over from the neighboring factory, they seem to be U Demon's troops..."
If the soldiers Deathstroke dealt with on the ground were ordinary, Deadpool was facing something entirely different. His opponents were terrifying monsters with shark or octopus heads, the kind that would reduce the SAN value of ordinary people just by looking at them.
These Western-style 'shrimp soldiers and crab generals' were basically Atlantean warriors, and appearing on the German side could only be U Demon's underlings.
Currently, it seems their opponents are not fond of guns, as those don't work underwater. They're engaging in cold weapon combat with Deadpool, and in this regard, Deathstroke has confidence in Wade.
Officially speaking, Deathstroke's fighting techniques are Level 7, signifying mastery of all combat styles and weapons in DC. Deadpool's fighting techniques are also Level 7, showcasing mastery of all martial arts and weapons in Marvel.
Notably, Thor only has a Level 6 rating in this area.
The brothers are complete masters in close combat, with no worries about unexpected mishaps.
Conversely, Deathstroke's situation is more severe than Deadpool's, as the energy weapons created by the Cosmic Rubik's Cube pose a substantial threat.
Earlier, he experimentally shielded himself with arm armor from a shot; although it didn't burn his whole hand, it pierced the armor and the symbiote's 'lining,' leaving a fingertip-sized round hole on the forearm, deep enough to expose Promethium Metal's arm bone.
This is just a personal weapon; if he remembers correctly, Hydra also has energy cannons from the Cosmic Rubik's Cube. If hit by weapons of that caliber, even Deathstroke would be heavily injured.
Promethium metal can't block the Cosmic Rubik's Cube, so it likely can't handle other Infinity Stones; Deathstroke kept this fact firmly in mind.
Only X Metal can outmatch a single Infinity Stone.
Fortunately, those wielding these weapons aren't strong enough yet; weapons are dead objects, and only the warriors wielding them are truly vital.
The gunmen among German soldiers, shoot worse than the symbiote, a foreign species—utterly disgraceful; they should quit the group.
It's not really their poor marksmanship; these elite warriors operate deep behind enemy lines, creating chaos beneath London's surface—how could their marksmanship be lacking?
The key lies in Deathstroke's speed; his brain can automatically calculate bullet trajectories to dodge attacks—only under bizarre circumstances would ordinary men hit him.
The black and yellow armor flitting like a ghost shadow among the crowd, occasionally flashing blue light, rendering him eerily sinister. His martial skills are displayed vividly, blessed by divine weapons; soldiers directly facing Deathstroke rarely have time to utter a single scream.
Moments later, the enemies below were entirely dispatched, Deathstroke leaned against the machinery beside him, taking deep breaths to calm his breathing.
He'd slaughtered them massively this time; roughly a hundred enemy soldiers fell by the sword. Yet, this cultivated the symbiote's craving, resonating with Deathstroke's own bloodthirsty desire, surging waves of murderous intent flooding his heart incessantly.
Deathstroke realized he reached the threshold; indulging excessively might lead to losing reasoning, transforming into a murderous symbiote puppet.
Thus, he hammered the symbiote a few times, restoring its obedience, as if all had been mere hallucinations.
"Damn, were you a vending machine in your past life? You don't behave unless shaken."
Despite regaining ability to continue slashing, Deathstroke chose to pause slightly—battle certainly wasn't over yet.
After all, previously guarding the outer door were mutants; he didn't believe they were commanded by U Demon or the Germans—the mutants inevitably had a powerful leader, definitely not the one Deathstroke threw to Antarctica.
Would the real leader be defending the door in a sewer?
In these hidden factories, there's certainly some tricky opponent lurking in shadows. Now, Deathstroke pretends to rest, hoping to lure it out...
At this moment, the doctor and mage already exited the doors; the mage's tactical competence was commendable, making the right decision.
While Deadpool and Deathstroke were tangled with enemies, the mage helped Holloway detach a corpse from the assembly line; then they exited, acknowledging the unsuitable environment for autopsy amid battle chaos; blocking the doorway ensured team's retreat and facilitated defense.
"No apparent external injury, no toxin reactions; cause of death is organ failure—and this is definitely not human."
Holloway conducted preliminary examination, quickly grasping answers. Being equipped with surgical and testing tools right outside, he dissected with handheld flashlight without delay.
Monac maintained 'shield' magic facing the door, among his few lessons at Kama Taiji. He learned merely simple White Magic, his inner strength perpetually resisting White Magic.
"Not human?"
"Look inside his chest cavity and you'll understand—besides lungs, there are other unfamiliar organs."
Holloway gripped the flashlight, forcefully spread the ribcage open to reveal its contents—a resonating accordion-like organ layered within.
"Seems like gills, yet unlike typical fish gills, astonishingly situated within the chest cavity, at the lung and trachea connection point." Monac glanced over, offering hypothesis.
Habitually conducting body suture, Holloway probed while threading: "Is this Atlantean?"
Monac frowned slightly: "Shouldn't be. I've never seen undersea people, but told their skin's blue—resembling... ocean hue."
"That's odd—externally akin to ordinary humans, yet internally absolutely contrary; could this be the King Namor we seek?"
Holloway swiftly finished suturing, resting the corpse against a wall; fetching body bag, realizing occupational habit he chuckled bitterly.
Though Magic Prince wasn't sure, should this be Namor, the continuously flowing assembly line corpses are perplexing. At least five to six hundred bodies; grossly exceeding any prior magical detection numbers, devoid of life signs altogether.
"I don't know... better inform Deathstroke, letting him decide."
Unbeknownst to Deathstroke, his teammates gradually relinquishing independent thought, growing reliant on Deathstroke's thinking and judgment. They sprint along Justice League's established path, accelerating rapidly...
Holloway found the mage's words reasonable—this matter best left to Captain's worry.
Hence, amidst occasional blue energy beam crossing the dim factory, engaged in relaxed banter over beard care—oil versus wax, sharing perspectives.
Ultimately, Magic Prince's broader insight suggesting Holloway employ Black Magic Beard Wax, derived from toads and alternate dimension creatures. Holloway's trial prompted endless praise; his mustache gleamed seductively even reflecting light.
Between them, it's all jovial harmony—quite delightful and congratulatory...