Don't expect the Deep Red Evil God to respond with something like 'I'm here, dear,' he doesn't speak in Taobao style, and Evil Gods don't cozy up to humans either.
Su Ming did this just to lighten the atmosphere, preventing Serrator on the other side from discovering that there's a Little Moustache Mage who might be feeling fearful.
Fear can be exploited, and that's very dangerous.
The hole was very small; as a spatial wormhole, it didn't look much larger than a golf hole. The red clouds on the other side twisted and changed like a kaleidoscope, and the energy particles were so dense they could be seen with the naked eye. They were natural attack magic when thrown out.
These particles were pushed aside by a gigantic hand, revealing the image of a huge demon with six horns on its head.
He was bare-chested, showing red skin, somewhat resembling Surtur, but bigger and stronger, with nebulae and lightning formed from energy swirling around him.
He was the Deep Red Universe itself, an existence that turned himself into a cosmic concept.
The gigantic humanoid figure appeared for just a moment before the hole was flooded by other red smoke, obscuring the view while a voice with a unique rhythm came from the hole.
"A mortal?"
"Yes, a mortal."
"Interesting, what do you seek?"
"A small part of your power, insignificant to you."
"Your universe holds my power, go and find it, hahaha....."
After saying these words, the Demon God cut off the connection.
Su Ming touched his chin, feeling that Serrator was one of the more approachable Demon Gods. The 'Seralto Red Belt' was famously low-cost.
He possesses All-Powerful Cosmic Level strength, yet he confines himself to a Monistic Universe.
Therefore, he likes to distribute red rubies across various universes, which are the triggers of his power. Those who possess the gemstone can even destroy Earth with a punch.
Of course, he not only looks like a demon but acts like one too. His gemstones are never free.
Aside from affecting the mind, they also spread deep crimson energy, which has a chaos attribute and is very powerful, turning all those who come into contact with it into violent maniacs and lunatics.
As the energy spreads, the entire universe becomes 'deep crimson', and Serrator, through the energy connection, drags this universe into his Deep Red Universe.
This is fishing.
Many people find Deep Red Magic effective and low-cost, mistakenly believing Serrator has no ambition, thus pursuing his power, only to discover the existence of Serrator's ruby, use it for their whims, and ultimately doom their universe.
Serrator never requires a contract; the gemstone itself is the contract, the bait, the power, and the poison.
The future possessor of the ruby is Red Tank, who is Charles's stepbrother and the one Su Ming considers most suitable to guard Serrator's gemstone.
Because he has possessed the gemstone for decades, without Earth being corrupted, although he leans towards the villain side, it must be said that he is quite a principled person.
"Hmm, it appears that the influence of time has its limits," Su Ming turned around, stroking his beard, and called in Gin from outside: "There's nothing more, now we just wait for nightfall for me to go do my business."
"Kama Taiji..."
Monac extended a hand as if to stop Deathstroke's departure, but Su Ming twisted around, evading his grasp.
In just a moment, the other person's figure disappeared around the corridor's corner, he ran very quickly.
Little Moustache Mage intended to say something, but Hamill stopped him. The lean Guardian shook his head slightly, giving Monac a look to understand for himself.
.............
"Hiss... why isn't he here yet."
In the car by the roadside, Howard leaned on the steering wheel, a cigar in his other hand as he looked out the window.
But apart from the pitch-black night, there seemed to be nothing here.
The address given by the food order phone didn't seem odd, but when night arrived, Howard found that all the streetlights here were broken, and the buildings along the road were all dark, with not a single light on the entire street.
No cars, no pedestrians, it was like a ghost town.
This atmosphere was very creepy, and even with the car's heater on full, goosebumps continued to rise on his skin.
So he lit a cigar, looking around anxiously, waiting for eight o'clock. In principle, he shouldn't be wandering around the night after an assassination attempt, especially alone without a bodyguard.
But thinking about the martial protection Deathstroke could offer, he decided to take a bit of a risk. The Havana cigar could ease his tension, though he was somewhat anxious.
"Don't smoke in the dark if you're not sure."
A massive black great sword suddenly rested on his neck, and the star-like decorations made Howard immediately recognize who it was.
But before he could say anything, a bullet landed on the great sword, turning into a small copper disc, which fell hotly onto his pants.
The sniper in the distance aimed at him again; the attack came as expected, but this shot was blocked by Deathstroke in advance, seeming almost intentionally aimed at the sword.
"Hot!" Howard patted at his crotch, the bullet's kinetic energy converted to thermal energy.
"Hide well, I'm going to catch them."
Just as he silently appeared in the passenger seat, Deathstroke left just as quietly, flipping through the window and directly flying into the black night, soon returning with two captured people.
He tossed the two onto the hood, face up, shining a flashlight on their faces, while Strangulation discarded the gunman's weapon onto the hood and retracted back onto Deathstroke.
"Do you recognize these two?"
Howard shook his head disdainfully, gagging a little: "What are these things? They look like that?"
These were two men in suits, and if you didn't look at their faces, you might say they were human. But seeing their faces, you'd notice the difference from a cousin— a kind of disgust— because they had no faces.
If Deadpool's face was avocado-like, then these two had faces like a ball of yarn.
Their entire faces had been damaged by either knives or branding irons, with layers of old scars crisscrossing in different directions and connective tissues from healing disrupting their facial features.
They were like heads that had been ground through a meat grinder and then pulled out, or as if layers of opaque wax had melted over them.
Such an appearance, once seen, is absolutely unforgettable for a lifetime. Howard said he hadn't seen them, which meant he truly didn't know.
As soon as these two discovered Deathstroke, they immediately committed suicide, so quickly that Su Ming didn't even have time to capture a living person— truly a sight to behold.
Su Ming sighed slightly and began checking their belongings.
A Wilson rifle with an added sniper scope, essentially a knock-off 98K.
A Wilson assault rifle with an extended magazine, a knock-off AK.
Two pistols, also Wilson knock-off Glocks.
In addition to magazines, their suit pockets contained some change, two masks, two packs of Wilson cigarettes, and a small bottle of Skywalker Liquor.
These creatures had no fingerprints; their fingers were burned, and their palm lines were all gone. No need to look, their soles should be the same.
Prying open their mouths revealed that the teeth used for identification were all false, and they even had no tongues, making them certainly mute.
In such a case, even if the Time Gem could resurrect them, no information could be extracted. Besides, resurrecting anyone other than Deadpool might bring the Lord of Hell or even Death knocking for a deal, making it a loss.
The Time Gem cannot be exposed, especially not to Charles at this stage. His father just died without even ashes left, and cannot be resurrected by reversing time.
It's better to stick to conventional methods. Su Ming looked at Howard because all existing clues pointed to Wilson Enterprises.
But it can be confirmed that this matter has nothing to do with herself, for Gin's control over subordinates is beyond doubt, and she has no such assassin team under her.
The way these people concealed their identities would cause great difficulties in daily life. They would be hard to go unnoticed on the streets. These individuals likely live in darkness, as their pallid complexion suggests they never see daylight.
Howard leaned against the car door, holding the rearview mirror, observing these clues as well.
He wouldn't suspect Slade because it was Slade who persuaded him to hire Deathstroke. All evidence found pointed to Slade— would the One-Eyed Dragon be that foolish?
Unless this is a frame job, then he's indeed encountered a loyal Wilson Enterprises user.
"Ah, next time I see Slade, I have a topic— his weapons being used to kill me, how outrageous." Howard still had the mood to joke.
Su Ming glanced at him and drew out Godslayer, transforming it into a curved blade: "You should consider why the gunman didn't use Stark Industries' weapons."
Howard pursed his lips. Such a heart-wrenching question.
For a military enterprise like Stark Industries, having products that don't compare to a department store's is ironic, especially when street gunmen aren't even keen to use them— so pathetic...
Upon returning, I'll reassign the weapons design department to work on instant noodles.
"I will develop new personal weapons, definitely better than Wilson Enterprises'." Howard lifted his chin, speaking proudly with a genius's confidence— for three handsome seconds: "Uh...wait, what are you doing?"
Turns out, while he was speaking with a cigar in hand, Su Ming used the curved blade to cut open the corpse.
"Performing an autopsy to determine the cause of death."
"I know it's an autopsy, what I mean is... why on the hood of my car?!" Howard pointed to the ground, then to his car: "This is a limited edition sports car, my favorite one."
"Still a Wilson Car."
Deathstroke turned to glance at him, then refocused on his work.
"...Damn it."
Howard sighed, looking up at the sky, where the stars shone brightly, with some snowflakes falling on his face— so cold, so lonely....
Especially with Deathstroke's bone-cutting sound nearby, making him feel even colder.
Crack, crack, crack....
Su Ming was not a professional forensic pathologist, and for him, opening the chest was definitely less graceful than Holloway. He merely used the curved blade to cut a circle around the corpse's chest and abdomen, lifting the entire section of bones and flesh like a manhole cover.
With his motion, a large amount of ashes erupted from the corpse's chest cavity, as if they had just been burning, with many still smoldering fragments flickering slightly in the wind.
All the organs were gone, and the inside of the corpse resembled a cold furnace, filled only with embers. Howard's concern wasn't realized— there was little blood from the corpse, leaving the hood clean.
"See it?"
Su Ming stepped aside, allowing Howard to check the situation.
Howard got more serious. He returned to the car to get rubber gloves, pinched some ashes, and sniffed them.
"There's a bit of a bloody smell. Their organs were incinerated. I don't know what chemical could achieve such an effect, but it's not ordinary strong acids or bases—they might have ingested rocket fuel and then ignited it."
"Your answer? Rocket fuel?"
Deathstroke's tone was indifferent, but the question seemed filled with disdain.
"Hey, I may be a genius, but not a medical genius—I'm a physicist. What other answer do you want?" Howard went on strike directly, not detecting any chemical odor he could recognize, which surpassed his field of expertise.
"Nothing, just complicating matters. Let's play a number guessing game."
Deathstroke rubbed his thumb and two fingers together in front of him, making a sound like counting money.