Su Ming quietly stood on the rooftop of a small building, the darkness blending him with the eaves. He silently awaited movement within the city; as soon as those three women took action, he would immediately launch an assault on the anti-aircraft artillery emplacement not far ahead.
He took off his helmet, and the symbiote covering his face sensibly withdrew, revealing his features and skin.
A light breeze brushed by, and the air felt slightly cool.
He sensed the night's somewhat moist veil, which bore no floral fragrance, only the scent of iron and blood.
The city was very quiet, with not even a dog's bark to be heard. Occasionally, a few sporadic gunshots rang out, but it was impossible to identify who the victim was.
Su Ming's expression remained unchanged; this was the nature of the battlefield. He could indulge Holloway's compassion to maintain squad unity and uphold a good image before the X-Men, but he himself did not need sympathy.
He was a warrior, an assassin, and compassion for strangers was a luxury.
He could disguise himself like an ordinary person, be a boss, a cousin, or a good person...
The world's atmosphere was like this; he mimicked the masked figures here, ensuring he didn't stand out too much and risk rejection by this world.
But in reality, he had always been using these appearances to conceal his plans, and those plans, unbeknownst to others, had all been executed according to Deathstroke's ideas.
His mind remained exceptionally calm; neither the symbiote nor the Godslayer could influence his will. Even saving the world was merely the first step of a grand plan; he intended to drag this world back onto the timeline he was familiar with, and then take what he desired.
The sky was devoid of stars or the moon, leaving only the enemy. Under this city's sky, he was surrounded by foes on all sides.
"Boom!!!"
In the distance, the roar of an explosion shattered the night's tranquility. Almost instantly, all the airships' searchlights were aimed in that direction, as flames from the explosion rose amidst countless beams of light.
"An oil depot, has it begun..."
Su Ming fastened his helmet, and the symbiote began spreading across his face. It felt as if a cold hand touched his face, but it soon became one with him.
A string of glowing numbers flickered past the red lens of the helmet; diagnostics complete, tactical visor activated.
He jumped directly from the small building, the Magic Floating Cloak carrying him towards the enemy, silent and stealthy in the dark night.
Deathstroke, commencing operation.
.................
The anti-aircraft artillery emplacement was simply a small garden originally enclosed by sandbags and barbed wire, leaving an entrance and exit passage.
On either side of the passage, two simple wooden single-person huts stood, serving as the sentinels' posts.
However, no one usually wanted to curl up in those during their downtime; they were meant as shelters from the rain, and on a day like today, even well-trained German Army soldiers wouldn't demand the sentinels remain on standby inside the small kiosks.
At this moment, two Germans were huddled together, standing by the roadside, smoking and chatting.
One was somewhat older, possibly even a veteran from World War I. He was recounting the day's events to the young man beside him.
In his vivid depiction, a monstrous figure clad in black and yellow armor had slaughtered its way through them, even devouring a five-meter-tall Steel Warrior whole.
The young man shivered with fright. Even if he had killed many on the battlefield, the thought of cannibalism was terrifying.
He had only heard that Hydra had cannibalistic habits; did the enemy as well?
But in reality, the old soldier hadn't ventured near the vicinity. A truly experienced veteran wouldn't go near the site of an explosion.
He had merely climbed a relatively tall building nearby the incident area, glanced towards Fountain Square, and then embellished the story to scare the rookie for amusement.
The rookie was completely scared by the story; if he thought about it carefully, he'd realize they were the anti-aircraft unit, with no chance to be on the front line.
"Was it really that terrifying?"
The rookie shivered as he smoked. Originally a small-town resident conscripted into service out of admiration for the Supreme Leader and national enthusiasm, he was now unnerved.
"Hey, don't doubt it. Look at the kind of monstrous weapons we have; isn't it normal for the enemy to have something similar?"
The old soldier leisurely puffed smoke rings, standing side by side with the rookie as they looked out onto the road. His wrinkled face displayed a disgruntled expression, seemingly displeased by the rookie's disbelief.
Just like during World War I, when the British first invented the tank and, finding it very effective, other nations quickly followed suit.
"No, no disbelief, Old Hans. Please continue, what did the monster look like?"
Standing guard at night was a tedious task, especially within Paris City. If the old soldier didn't talk to him, the night would be unbearable.
The old soldier scratched his head, pondering how to fabricate the tale... He didn't have a clear view at the time.
"In short, that monster could grow multiple tails from its rear, and those tails could wield all sorts of weapons. I personally witnessed a tail control a tank and drive it directly into the monster's mouth."
"Really? What else?" The rookie felt something was off; this was too surreal. Were the Allied warriors all monsters?
"The monster was terribly ugly, with a body half-black and half-yellow, lacking any human form. When it caught a person, it'd take a bite and decide whether to start with the head or the leg, depending entirely on your luck." The old soldier babbled on, thoroughly enjoying the tale, dismissing any need for plausibility.
"What does luck have to do with it?" The rookie asked another question.
"If it starts with the head, you'll die quickly; if it starts with the leg, you'll die painfully." The old soldier said with a faraway gaze, deeply puffing out a breath of smoke, like someone who had witnessed countless tales of sorrow.
The rookie scratched his neck, feeling uneasy. The evening breeze stirred the surrounding trees, leaves rustling like ghost shadows encircling them.
He felt a chill, as if being watched by something supernatural.
"Rest assured, even if that monster is strong, it's no match for our great Supreme Leader. We will definitely achieve victory!"
The old soldier patted the rookie's shoulder, only to find that the rookie fell straight to the ground, his face filled with terror, eyes wide open, already lifeless.
He fell silently onto the soft grass, without making a sound.
The old soldier crouched down, feeling for his pulse and checking for wounds, intending to fire a warning shot.
But at that moment, he noticed a pair of unfamiliar feet in front of him...
The owner of those feet seemed to be closely joined behind them, eavesdropping on their conversation, yet he hadn't sensed anything.
No breathing, no sound, no soul, that person was entirely merged with the darkness.
He slowly raised his head, his gaze shifting from steel combat boots upward, spotting the black and yellow caution colors in the dark, and then seeing the blood-red monocular.
Immediately, he felt his vision spin, and then the entire environment receded from him.
That was the last color he ever saw.