Inside the dimly lit control room of his lair, Slade Wilson—Deathstroke—leaned over a bank of monitors, his singular, piercing eye scanning the feeds from strategically placed cameras. The Narrows were as desolate and shadowy as ever, a maze of decaying buildings and shadow-draped alleys that even Gotham's finest dared not venture into without backup. Slade had chosen this location for a reason. It was isolated, hostile, and above all, his.
The glow of the monitors cast cold, flickering light across his masked face, emphasizing the harsh contours of his jaw and the predatory glint in his eye. His finger hovered over a control as he rewound one of the feeds, playing back a brief flicker of motion in the corner of the screen. His gaze sharpened as he paused the image.
There. High above the Narrows, a figure streaked through the night sky, blazing fiery wings that illuminated the darkness like a phoenix in flight. Slade's lips curled into a grim smile.
"Shadowflame," he muttered, his gravelly voice filled with both recognition and mild irritation. He pressed a button on the console, opening a comm channel to his enforcer. "Brick, we've got eyes in the sky. A big one."
Brick's distorted voice crackled through the speaker. "You want me to squash it?"
Slade smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair, his gloved hand tapping rhythmically against the armrest. "Not yet. No need to tip our hand just yet. He's flying solo—for now—but he's not stupid. He's scouting. Means his friends aren't far behind."
He tapped another feed, switching the camera angle to one near the lair's entrance. He studied the shadows, noting slight disturbances in the rubble, the telltale sign of movement. His grin widened. "Intercept him at the entrance. Make some noise. Play the blunt instrument—you're good at that."
Brick laughed, the deep rumble echoing through the comms. "I'll take that as a compliment, boss. You want him in pieces?"
Slade's tone turned cold, the kind of tone that made even a man like Brick sit up straighter. "No. You keep him busy. Long enough for me to figure out what his game is. Don't get cocky. Shadowflame's no lightweight, and if you screw this up, I'll handle him myself—and then you. Understand?"
The line was silent for a moment before Brick muttered, "Crystal clear."
Slade ended the call, his smirk fading as his expression turned calculating. He leaned forward again, fingers flying over the keyboard as he brought up thermal scans and proximity alerts. If Shadowflame was here, that meant the rest of the so-called team couldn't be far behind. He'd studied their files extensively—Superboy, Miss Martian, the one they called Firebolt, and Arcana. A collection of children playing hero. Talented, sure. Dangerous, even. But predictable.
And predictable was how you got people killed.
"You think you're so clever," Slade muttered to himself, his tone dripping with mockery as he continued to monitor Shadowflame's flight pattern. "Flying in with your flashy wings, thinking I won't see you coming. Amateur mistake. You're underestimating me, kid. Big mistake."
He pulled up a secondary feed, one that showed his traps primed and ready. Mines beneath the rubble, automated turrets hidden in dilapidated facades, and his own personal contingencies waiting in the wings. Slade never relied on brute strength alone; his mind was his sharpest weapon, and he wielded it with deadly precision.
He reached for a cigar resting in an ashtray nearby, lighting it with a practiced flick of his lighter. The tip glowed orange as he exhaled a plume of smoke, watching as the fiery figure continued to glide above the Narrows.
"Come on, Shadowflame," Slade said softly, almost conversationally. "Let's see if those wings of yours burn as brightly when I clip them."
He chuckled to himself, leaning back in his chair. The game had begun, and as far as Slade Wilson was concerned, he never lost.
---
High above the lair, Shadowflame hovered, his fiery wings painting the night sky in hues of orange and gold, casting dancing shadows across the ruined streets below. The Narrows were a labyrinth of decay, but Harry's sharp eyes zeroed in on movement near the lair's entrance. A hulking figure emerged from the shadows, his sheer bulk making him unmistakable even at a distance.
"Brick," Harry muttered under his breath, his tone laced with both recognition and mild irritation. "Deathstroke really doesn't believe in subtlety, does he?"
Tapping his comm, Harry spoke firmly, his voice calm yet commanding. "Superboy, you're up. Brick's at the entrance. Make your entrance loud. Give him something to focus on."
A moment of static, followed by the telltale smirk in Superboy's voice. "Loud? You sure you want me to hold back?"
Above, inside the cloaked Bioship, the atmosphere was charged with tension and excitement. Superboy stood at the edge of the hatch, arms crossed as he gazed down at the ground below. He was dressed for action—black shirt with the red Superman insignia, jeans, and that confident swagger that only Conner Kent could pull off. He turned slightly, glancing at the others in the ship.
Arcana (Hermione) was seated nearby, reviewing a magical map of the lair with her wand, her brow furrowed in concentration. Cannonball (Ron) sat next to her, fidgeting with a pair of enchanted goggles Fred and George had insisted he wear. The twins themselves—the Marauders—were leaning over a crate of their latest "experimental" explosives, whispering to each other in rapid-fire code only they seemed to understand.
Kid Flash was pacing, stretching his legs like a sprinter about to hit the track. Sirius Black, lounging in a chair, was lazily flipping his wand in one hand, while Talia al-Ghul stood like a statue, her piercing green eyes locked on the screens showing the live feed from the lair.
Miss Martian, seated at the helm, glanced back at Conner, her voice calm but firm. "Superboy, remember—this is a distraction, not a demolition derby."
Conner rolled his eyes but smirked. "What's the difference?"
Fred chimed in with a grin, "The difference, mate, is whether we get to see the explosion or just hear about it."
Hermione glared at him. "This isn't a joke, Fred."
George grinned. "She's right, Fred. It's a performance. Conner's got to stick the landing."
Superboy shook his head, amused, as he stepped closer to the hatch. He looked down again, his enhanced vision picking out Brick's lumbering form. "A walking wall of muscle. Perfect. Haven't had a proper workout all day."
Harry's voice came over the comm again, steady and precise. "Focus, Conner. Make it count. I've got the sky; you take the ground."
"Got it, boss," Conner replied, his grin widening.
Miss Martian pressed a control, and the hatch hissed open. The cool night air rushed in, ruffling Conner's hair. He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders like a heavyweight stepping into the ring. Then, with a glance over his shoulder at the others, he gave a casual salute. "Try to keep up."
With that, he stepped off the edge.
The fall was long, but Conner wasn't one for hesitation. Wind whipped past him as he descended like a missile, his eyes locked on Brick. The massive enforcer had just stepped fully into the light, his cracked, ruddy skin glinting like stone. Brick paused, looking up just in time to see Conner hurtling toward him like a meteor.
"Hey, big guy!" Conner called out mid-fall, his voice echoing through the night. "Catch!"
The impact was thunderous. Conner landed in front of Brick, the asphalt cracking and cratering beneath him. Dust and debris shot into the air as Brick stumbled back, momentarily stunned. Conner rose slowly from his crouch, brushing dust off his jeans as if he'd simply stepped off a curb.
Brick scowled, his massive hands clenching into fists. "You've got a death wish, kid."
Conner smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Nah, just a to-do list. And right now? You're at the top."
Brick charged, and Conner met him head-on, the sound of their clash reverberating through the Narrows like a thunderclap. From above, Harry watched the chaos unfold, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.
"Good luck, Brick," Harry muttered to himself, his wings flaring brighter as he prepared for the next phase of the mission. "You're gonna need it."
---
The air trembled with the thunderous clash of titans. Superboy sidestepped Brick's incoming fist, the blow smashing into a nearby support pillar and reducing it to a pile of rubble. Concrete dust hung in the air like mist as Conner shot forward, driving an uppercut into Brick's chin. The force lifted the massive man off the ground, his body hanging in the air for a split second before crashing back down with a heavy thud.
Conner rolled his shoulders, the faintest of smirks playing on his lips. "Seriously? That all you've got? I was hoping for a challenge."
Brick pushed himself up, his glowing, stone-like skin catching the faint light from the streetlamps. He spat a chunk of debris to the side and leveled a glare at Conner. "You talk too much, boy."
With a guttural roar, Brick charged, his massive frame barreling forward like a freight train. The ground trembled beneath him, cracks spidering out from each thunderous step. Conner didn't flinch. Instead, he braced himself, planting his feet firmly as the behemoth bore down on him.
When Brick's fists came swinging, Conner caught them, their palms colliding in a thunderous clap that echoed through the desolate streets. The shockwave from the impact rippled outward, sending loose debris flying. For a moment, they stood locked in a test of strength, Brick's raw power pushing against Conner's Kryptonian might.
"You're strong," Conner grunted, his muscles straining but holding steady. "But I've fought tougher guys on a bad day."
Brick sneered, his jagged teeth bared. "Keep yappin', kid. Let's see if that mouth can save you when I bury you under ten tons of rubble!"
With a sudden twist, Brick yanked his arms free and swung a wild haymaker at Conner. The young Kryptonian ducked low, the blow sailing inches above his head. Before Brick could recover, Conner surged forward, driving his shoulder into Brick's gut with enough force to send him skidding backward into the remains of a wall.
"Man, you're slow," Conner taunted, dusting his hands off as if he were shaking off a casual workout. "Do you even lift?"
Brick roared in frustration, ripping a chunk of the wall behind him and hurling it like a missile. Conner tilted his head, sidestepping just enough for the projectile to fly harmlessly past him and crash into another building.
"That's cute," Conner quipped, his smirk widening. "What's next? You gonna throw a tantrum?"
Brick's patience snapped. He lunged again, this time feinting to the left before delivering a crushing right hook. It connected with Conner's jaw, sending him staggering back a step. Brick grinned triumphantly, but his victory was short-lived.
Conner wiped a small smear of blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes narrowing. "Okay. That actually hurt a little. Guess you deserve a gold star."
With blinding speed, Conner closed the distance between them, driving his fist into Brick's midsection with enough force to crack the stone-like armor protecting his skin. Brick wheezed, his massive frame doubling over just as Conner brought an elbow down on the back of his neck, sending him crashing to the ground.
"Not bad, though," Conner said, stepping back and giving Brick room to recover. "You've got the brute force thing down. But you're gonna need a lot more than that to keep up with me."
Brick pushed himself up slowly, his breaths ragged but his glare unwavering. "I ain't done yet, kid."
Conner rolled his eyes, dropping into a ready stance. "Good. I'd hate for this to be over already."
---
In the dim glow of the control room, Deathstroke's one good eye tracked the fight on the monitor, his lips curling into a faint, calculating smile. Superboy and Brick were locked in a brutal brawl, trading blows that left the ground trembling and debris flying. Despite Brick's raw power, the kid wasn't just holding his own—he was showing off. Slade hated show-offs.
"Persistent little bastard," Slade muttered to himself, leaning forward in his chair. He tapped a button on his console, opening a secure comm line. "Deadshot, status?"
Perched high above the battlefield on a rusting water tower, Floyd Lawton adjusted the scope on his sniper rifle. His aim was steady, unwavering, as he tracked the Kryptonian. The chaos below barely registered; his world had narrowed to the crosshairs and the target.
"Got eyes on the boy," Deadshot replied, his voice smooth and casual, as though he were discussing the weather. "He's good, Slade. Fast, strong. You sure Brick's not just his warm-up act?"
Slade allowed himself a small chuckle. "Brick's a distraction. You're the closer. Switch to Kryptonite rounds and take the shot if you've got it."
"Copy that," Deadshot said, reaching into his belt pouch. He retrieved a single glowing green bullet, the eerie light reflecting off his mask. "Kryptonite locked and loaded."
On the screen in front of Slade, Brick swung a massive fist at Superboy, who ducked and countered with a punch that sent the brute stumbling. Slade's expression remained cold, unreadable. He wasn't concerned—yet. But this Kryptonian was more resilient than expected.
"Don't wait for my word," Slade said, his tone measured, calculated. "Just pull the trigger."
In the silence of the water tower, Deadshot smirked. "I love it when you sweet-talk me," he quipped, sliding the bullet into place and snapping the chamber shut. His finger brushed the trigger, and he let out a slow, controlled exhale.
Through the scope, Floyd tracked Superboy's chest, compensating for the erratic movements of the brawl. "Alright, sunshine," he muttered under his breath. "Time for you to take a nap."
Deadshot's finger tightened on the trigger.
Then it happened.
A soft, almost imperceptible whoosh behind him. The faintest shuffle of air, too quiet for anyone else to notice. But Floyd Lawton wasn't just anyone. His instincts flared, and he spun his head just in time to see... nothing.
Before he could react, a sharp, invisible force slammed into him. His limbs stiffened, his rifle slipping from his grasp and clattering to the metal platform below. His body froze, locked in place as though an unseen hand had hit pause on him. His mouth twisted into a snarl as he tried—and failed—to move.
"Slade—!" Deadshot started, but his voice cut off as his comm went dead.
Back in the control room, Deathstroke's head tilted slightly at the sudden silence. He frowned, reaching for the comm. "Deadshot, report."
Nothing.
Slade's lips thinned, his eye narrowing as he switched to the feed from Deadshot's perch. The camera showed only an empty sniper's nest, the rifle abandoned on the platform. Deadshot himself was nowhere to be seen.
Slade leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he stared at the screen. A slow smile crept across his face. "Well, well," he murmured. "Looks like we've got more players on the field."
---
Firebolt hovered high above the chaotic scene, her Firebolt broomstick stable beneath her, her posture poised like a hawk in the night sky. Ginny Weasley's face was a mask of focus, though her eyes glinted with a mix of satisfaction and amusement as she surveyed the battlefield below. Her wand, still raised, flickered for a moment as the Disillusionment Charm that concealed her shimmered slightly before settling back into perfect invisibility.
"Perfect," Ginny muttered under her breath, her lips curling into a smirk. The words were for herself, but the satisfaction was undeniable. Deadshot, the infamous sniper, had no idea what hit him. With a wave of her wand, she had cast a flawless Petrificus Totalus, locking him in place from head to toe. The once-dangerous assassin now looked like a statue—frozen, stiff, and utterly useless.
Her comm clicked, and Shadowflame's voice came through, crackling in her ear. "Neutralized?"
Ginny's smirk deepened, though she knew Harry couldn't see it. "Deadshot's not going anywhere. He's stiff as a board. I think he might even be a little... miffed about it."
She could almost hear Harry's appreciative chuckle on the other end of the line. "Good work, Firebolt. Keep the skies clear. Stay sharp. This isn't over yet."
"Always, Shadowflame." Her tone was light, laced with confidence. She gave one last glance downward at the now-frozen sniper before steering her broom to a higher altitude. The battlefield was below her, and Ginny could already feel her pulse quickening as her instincts kicked in. Her eyes swept across the area, scanning for any signs of incoming threats.
She knew that the fight wasn't finished yet. Deathstroke wouldn't let it end like this, and Ginny could already hear the faint hum of danger rising in the air, her senses alert to every flicker of movement.
She couldn't see it, but Ginny could almost feel Harry's grin from below, knowing that she'd done her part to take down one of the most dangerous mercenaries in the world. It was a quiet kind of victory, but one that felt right.
With a quick glance down at Deadshot, still frozen and glaring at the empty space where Ginny had once been, she flicked her wand again, the glow of her broom cutting through the night sky. She had no intention of letting her guard down—not when there was still work to be done.
She flew off, disappearing into the dark night like a shadow, determined to find a better vantage point, one that would give her the edge.
And below her, the frustrated glare on Deadshot's face was the only sign that he was still aware of what had just happened to him.
Ginny couldn't help but laugh softly to herself. "That'll teach him to mess with the Weasleys."
---
Deathstroke's one-eyed gaze hardened as he stared at the now-dead comm link, his hand gripping the armrest of his chair until his knuckles went white. His mind whirred with calculations, already working through the possibilities.
"Deadshot? Report," Slade demanded again, his voice calm but simmering with frustration. There was no response, not even the faint crackle of static. His jaw clenched as he straightened in his seat, narrowing his good eye as he scanned the feeds. His instincts screamed that something had gone wrong, but nothing added up. How had someone gotten to Deadshot without a trace?
He leaned forward, his gaze flicking from one screen to the next, analyzing every angle. The battle raged on between Superboy and Brick, the two of them locked in a violent, destructive struggle, their punches shaking the earth beneath them. But Slade's attention was entirely focused on the lack of a report from Deadshot. He knew Floyd Lawton—that man never went down easy.
His lips curled into a grim smile, a dangerous thought crossing his mind. "Impressive," Slade muttered under his breath, almost as if admiring the boldness of whoever had dared to take down his top sniper. Then he sighed, more out of annoyance than surprise. Whoever it was had just bought themselves a one-way ticket to Deathstroke's wrath.
He reached for his comm again, his tone sharp. "Ravager, get into position. We're not letting these amateurs think they can walk away from this. This team's got teeth, but they bleed just like anyone else. Let's remind them who runs this town."
There was a brief pause before Rose Wilson's voice crackled through the comm. "Understood, old man. Don't expect me to babysit—just point me in the right direction."
Slade's lips twitched into the faintest smirk. "Don't worry, Ravager. Just get there. They're distracted. This is our moment."
The sound of a blade being unsheathed followed Rose's sharp reply. "You don't need to tell me twice."
Deathstroke's eyes flicked back to the monitors. Rose was fast—fast enough to slip in and out before they even knew she was there. He'd trained her, and she'd surpassed his expectations. He couldn't help but be proud of her, though he'd never admit it. Rose didn't just follow orders. She carved her own path, and that was why he trusted her to handle this.
As the fight below continued, Slade leaned back in his chair, his mind calculating every potential outcome. There was no way he was going to let this ragtag team of teenagers get the best of him. And if they thought Deadshot's takedown was impressive, they hadn't seen anything yet.
A few seconds later, Slade's comm crackled again, but this time it wasn't Ravager's voice he heard. It was the low hum of her engines as she began to make her way toward the battlefield, and he knew that soon, Superboy and the rest would have to contend with her deadly presence.
"You want to play, kids?" Slade muttered, the dangerous edge creeping back into his voice. "Let's see if you can survive the game."
—
Superboy's arm shot out, his fist colliding with Brick's jaw in a thunderous crack that sent the hulking brute skidding across the cracked pavement. Conner stood tall, chest heaving, his eyes blazing with intensity. The fight had been long and hard, but now it was almost over. He was about to finish this.
"Is that all you got?" Conner taunted, wiping the grime off his cheek with a smirk. "This is getting boring."
Brick growled in frustration, his rock-like skin glowing faintly under the flickering streetlights. The brute lunged again, swinging with all his might, but Conner sidestepped the attack with effortless grace. His super speed made him an unstoppable force, every move calculated and precise.
But just as Conner was about to deliver the final blow, a sudden movement caught his eye—a blur from the shadows—and in the blink of an eye, Ravager—Rose Wilson—was in front of him, her twin swords gleaming like polished steel.
"Did I interrupt your fun, boy?" Rose taunted, her smirk predatory as she twirled her blades effortlessly in her hands. Her movements were fluid and calculated, each strike aimed with deadly precision.
Conner's brow furrowed. "Not really in the mood for your games, Wilson."
"Oh, I'm not here to play," Rose quipped back, eyes glinting with challenge. "But I do think you'll enjoy the challenge. After all, you might not be as invincible as you think."
Before Conner could respond, a ripple of movement came from the shadows, and suddenly Copperhead and Black Spider emerged from the darkness, both armed and deadly. Copperhead's serpentine form slithered toward Conner, while Black Spider's guns gleamed in the streetlight.
"Get ready, Superboy," Black Spider growled, his voice dripping with menace. "You're gonna need more than a pretty face to get out of this one."
Conner shifted into a ready stance, eyes narrowing as he sized up his new opponents. He was ready—he'd fought tougher. But before he could take a step forward, another voice broke into the chaos.
"You guys really thought you had this in the bag?" The voice came from above, cocky and self-assured.
There was a rush of air, and suddenly, Shadowflame—Harry—was there, landing beside Conner with a graceful thud. His fiery wings were still retracting, but the heat still lingered, giving off a faint glow against the night. Harry smirked as he looked around at the surrounding enemies.
"Sorry I'm late," Harry said, cracking his knuckles. "But looks like you've got a bit of a problem now, don't you?"
Conner glanced at him, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Couldn't have come sooner, could you? These guys were just getting warmed up."
"Yeah, yeah, don't get all mushy on me now, Superboy," Harry replied with a smirk of his own. "Let's just do this."
"Kid Flash! Artemis! Marauders!" Harry's voice rang out over the comms. "Get down here. Now!"
At once, Kid Flash's enthusiastic voice crackled through the comms. "Already on it! Give us a second, and we'll be there in a flash!"
Artemis's voice came next, calm but focused, with the familiar bite of a seasoned fighter. "Just point us in the right direction, Shadowflame. We're ready."
Fred and George's voices echoed in the background, clearly excited. "This is gonna be brilliant!" Fred said. "They won't know what hit 'em!"
"Brace yourselves!" George added. "You're in for a show!"
Up above, Firebolt—Ginny Weasley—was already in motion. Her broomstick hummed beneath her as she soared through the sky, just high enough to stay out of range but close enough to join the fight. With a flick of her wand, she dropped her Disillusionment Charm, making her visible to her teammates, and immediately began weaving magic to keep the mercenaries off balance.
"I'm coming in hot!" Ginny called over comms, her voice determined and focused as she dropped into the fray, launching a barrage of spells that sent Copperhead reeling backward. The enchanted smoke and spells exploded around them, thickening the air with disorienting fumes.
"Keep it tight," Shadowflame said into his comm, shifting his stance as he prepared to engage. "Talia, Sirius, Arcana, Cannonball—you wait. Let's get their attention first."
"Understood," came Talia al-Ghul's cold, calculating voice through the comms. "We will be ready."
"Don't keep me waiting," Sirius Black added with a laugh, his usual carefree attitude masked by the gravity of the situation. "I've been itching for some action."
Arcana—Hermione—spoke next, her voice steady and poised. "We'll be monitoring from here. Just give us the signal, and we'll move in."
"Let's make this quick," Ron's voice came over comms, sharp but full of determination. "I don't mind a bit of chaos, but I'm ready to wrap this up."
Harry's grin widened as the team readied themselves. "Good. We move when I say go."
Miss Martian's voice, soft yet focused, cut through the comms next. "I'll stay on comms and watch the perimeter. If Ragdoll makes a move, I'll find him. He's tricky."
Harry nodded, looking at the team around him. He knew the unpredictability of Deathstroke's team, and Ragdoll was their wildcard.
"You find him, Megan, and keep us posted. He's the last one unaccounted for. We can't afford any surprises."
The chaos around them intensified as Fred and George dropped into the fray, their smoke bombs disorienting the enemy even further. Artemis was on the move, launching arrows with impeccable precision, each one finding its mark with deadly accuracy.
As the mercenaries found themselves scattered and on the defensive, Conner and Harry launched into action. Conner's punches were lightning fast, each blow landing with bone-crushing force, while Harry's fiery blasts sent shockwaves through the street, lighting up the night.
Rose Wilson—Ravager—was still in the fight, circling like a shark, but now, with the team in full force, the odds were shifting. Copperhead and Black Spider were reeling, and even Ravager seemed to be having trouble keeping up with the combined speed and firepower of the team.
Conner cracked his knuckles and turned to Harry. "Looks like they're about to learn just how badly they underestimated us."
Harry grinned, the fire in his eyes matching the flicker of his wings. "Let's make sure they don't forget it."
Miss Martian kept her telepathic radar active, eyes scanning for Ragdoll's signature. "He's still nearby," she reported, her voice calm but sharp. "I can feel him. He's waiting for the right moment."
"Just make sure you don't let him slip by, Megan," Harry replied, already moving toward the next target. "We've got this."
As the team tore into Deathstroke's forces, there was no question that they had the upper hand now. But with Ragdoll lurking in the shadows, the night was far from over.
—
Deathstroke leaned back in his chair, eyes still focused on the chaos unfolding on the battlefield below. The brawl between his mercenaries—Ravager, Copperhead, Black Spider—and Shadowflame's team had become a cacophony of punches, spells, and explosions. But even with his experienced team on the front lines, Slade knew better than to get too cocky. He was prepared for what came next, because he knew Ragdoll was about to make his move.
He flicked his wrist, activating the comm. "Ragdoll," he said in a voice that was as calm as it was dangerous. The slightest edge of impatience crept into his tone. "Do what you do best. Keep them in check. And make sure Shadowflame doesn't walk out of here."
A long, low chuckle crackled through the comms, sending an uncomfortable shiver down the spine of anyone listening. Ragdoll's voice was distorted, uneven, like a jack-in-the-box wound too tightly.
"You want me to play, Slade?" Ragdoll's words came out in a twisted sing-song, far too delighted for the task at hand. "Oh, I love playing. Playing is... so much fun." His laughter echoed, high-pitched and manic. It was as if every word were a game to him, a game where the rules were only made to be broken.
Slade didn't react to the disturbing glee in Ragdoll's tone. He was used to the erratic mercenary's insanity by now. Ragdoll wasn't like Ravager or Black Spider—he wasn't a soldier, and he wasn't driven by logic. Ragdoll lived for the chaos. For the twisted games he could create in the midst of violence.
"Just do your job, Ragdoll," Slade replied coldly, his single eye narrowing. "Get to it."
There was a brief pause on the comms, and then Ragdoll's voice returned, darker, more distorted than before. "Don't worry, Slade. I'm very good at this. I've got so many toys to play with here. The fun's just beginning. You want Shadowflame to suffer? Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure he feels every moment. And when I'm done with him... I'll bring the others in, one by one."
Slade's jaw tightened slightly, but he said nothing. Ragdoll was unpredictable, as dangerous as he was unpredictable, but this was why Slade kept him in his service. Ragdoll's chaotic nature, the twisted ways he could make someone suffer—physically, mentally—it was an asset that could disorient even the most hardened of warriors. In the heat of battle, that kind of instability was a weapon of its own.
"Good," Deathstroke muttered, his tone clipped. "Now get to it. Don't make me repeat myself."
Ragdoll's voice hummed with a deranged sweetness, clearly relishing the moment. "Oh, I love when you're all business, Slade. Don't worry, I'm on it. Everything is going to go according to plan. I just need to make sure they don't see me coming..."
A series of distorted giggles followed, causing the hairs on the back of Slade's neck to prickle with something akin to disquiet. Ragdoll wasn't just another mercenary in his service—he was something far worse. As Slade surveyed the battlefield below, he knew that once Ragdoll made his move, nothing would be the same.
Turning away from the monitors, Deathstroke stood, his movements precise and calculated, as if he'd anticipated this moment for a long time. He could feel it—the tide of battle was shifting. Ragdoll's games were about to tip the scale, and no one, not even Shadowflame's team, was ready for what was coming next.
He pulled on his mask with a calmness that betrayed the storm brewing inside him. "Get ready," Slade murmured to himself, his voice low and dangerous. "Time to finish this."
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Click the link below to join the conversation:
https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd
Can't wait to see you there!
If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:
https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007
Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:
https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s
Thank you for your support!