Boom—
A crack of thunder exploded across the sky.
The Galactus Weapon’s energy disturbance had twisted the heavens, turning night into day.
Where moments ago the sky had been clear, a heavy layer of storm clouds now swept in, unleashing a torrential downpour that fell like a waterfall from a thousand cracks in the sky.
In the midst of the storm, the flames engulfing Kathoom were doused, a dense cloud of steam surrounding him.
But the owl emerged completely unharmed.
“Bruce, you have one chance.”
Kathoom hovered by Bruce’s side as Deathstroke advanced through the rain.
“He thinks snapping your wand has left you helpless. This is your opening!”
They had created an illusion of vulnerability, crafting a false weakness.
This was the moment Bruce had made for himself—a single chance to catch Deathstroke off guard. But it was a one-shot deal; there would be no second chance.
“Think carefully about your spell combination—you’ll only have one shot to end this.”
Kathoom reminded Bruce, his tone steady. “But don’t feel pressured. If you fail, I’ll get you out of here.”
Kathoom had always emphasized that they were travelers, not saviors.
This world was fated for destruction, and its fate wasn’t theirs to change.
Bruce didn’t argue, focusing instead on Kathoom’s first piece of advice.
Spell combination?
He remembered Professor Flitwick discussing this concept at Hogwarts.
It was an advanced dueling technique that allowed a wizard to string together spells, keeping them in control of the duel.
Bruce quickly devised a plan in his head.
He’d use Levitation to lift Deathstroke, then cast Freezing Charm to immobilize him in the rain, and finish with a powerful Cutting Charm.
It was the most potent combination he could manage.
Bruce clenched his fists. He had one shot.
Deathstroke approached, drawing the twin blades on his back—one of which was the Excalibur he’d taken from Red Skull.
Though Excalibur’s power had waned, in Deathstroke’s hands, a glimmer of its magic seemed to return.
The rain poured down, but as it neared the blade, it split in two, as though the sword’s mere presence commanded nature itself to bow.
“I don’t like targeting kids, but the payout’s too tempting,”
Deathstroke said, his gaze fixed on Bruce’s youthful face.
His battles with Batman had taught him that, even as a child, Bruce could turn the tables at any moment.
Until the final blow was dealt, Deathstroke wouldn’t let his guard down.
“He only wants you brought back. He didn’t say anything about you needing to be in one piece.”
With those words, Deathstroke lunged, moving so fast the rain seemed to pause around his silhouette, leaving a person-shaped void in the downpour.
Twin blades sliced through the air, cutting trails in the rain. Bruce saw the silver lines flash before his eyes and instinctively dodged.
But Deathstroke’s real target wasn’t Bruce.
It was Kathoom.
As long as that bizarre owl lived, Deathstroke wouldn’t rest easy.
Just as his blade was about to hit Kathoom, the owl flapped his wings, and his body twisted like it was being pulled into a singularity. In an instant, he vanished, reappearing several feet away.
“Teleportation? Or superspeed?”
Deathstroke muttered, thrown off by the move, though he’d seen similar powers before.
At that moment, Bruce’s voice cut through the rain.
Deathstroke realized his mistake instantly—the owl was bait!
“Leviosa!”
Bruce seized the opening, casting the long-prepared Levitation Charm.
Success!
As soon as Deathstroke’s feet left the ground, Bruce followed up with his next spell.
“Freezing Charm!”
A wave of icy energy engulfed Deathstroke, freezing the rain around him solid.
In an instant, Deathstroke was encased in a block of ice, falling heavily to the ground.
“Diffi—”
Bruce started to cast the Cutting Charm, ready to shatter the frozen Deathstroke into shards, but Kathoom interrupted.
“That’s enough.”
The owl flew over, his tone somber. “We’re done here. Let’s go.”
“Why?” Bruce protested, confused. He finally had the upper hand; one more spell would defeat Deathstroke for good.
The answer soon revealed itself. Cracks began to spread across Deathstroke’s frozen form, and with a shattering sound, the ice broke into fine dust.
Deathstroke stood in the rain, unharmed, his armor untouched.
Bruce’s eyes widened as he realized the problem.
As Kathoom had warned him, Deathstroke’s armor was forged from promethium metal, utterly indestructible.
None of Bruce’s spells could break it.
Even if he did manage to damage the armor, Deathstroke’s self-healing ability would bring him back.
Not to mention, he wielded a blade now regaining its ancient power. At this moment, Deathstroke was one of the most formidable warriors on this devastated Earth.
From the start, this had been an unwinnable battle!
—
Elsewhere, Hawkeye lay sprawled on the ground.
Red Skull, wielding Captain America’s shield, struck him repeatedly.
Since learning that the Galactus Weapon was linked to Red Skull’s life force, Hawkeye had hesitated, haunted by doubt. The battle was a one-sided slaughter.
“What’s wrong, Hawkeye? Weren’t you here to kill me? Why so quiet now?”
Red Skull laughed maniacally, relishing every blow with his treasured shield.
Hawkeye’s pupils began to dilate, life slipping from his body.
And Logan?
Nowhere to be found on the battlefield.
Maybe he’d slipped away at the start.
—
“It’s hopeless, Bruce! Let’s go!”
Kathoom kept urging Bruce to abandon the fight, coaxing him to leave the world behind.
Bruce stood in the pouring rain, despair creeping into his heart.
Kathoom had a point. Deathstroke had only one flaw—his Super-Soldier serum was imperfect.
If Deathstroke’s rage overwhelmed him, or if he sustained enough injuries to trigger his rapid healing, his mind would be overtaken by a berserk, animalistic fury.
Beyond that, he was an invincible foe.
“Bruce, you can’t win. Come with me—we’ll escape!”
Kathoom’s incessant pleas grated on Bruce’s nerves.
What was this owl’s deal? Hadn’t he claimed to be a demon king? Why was he so eager to run?
But then—
A strange thought struck Bruce.
Did Kathoom truly want to escape?
Bruce knew that if Kathoom wanted to get him out of this world, he wouldn’t need permission.
The owl could simply grab him, Apparate them both to safety, and open the multiversal passage to leave.
But Kathoom hadn’t done that.
Instead, he’d stayed and even analyzed Deathstroke’s weak points for Bruce.
What was Kathoom really thinking?
“Let’s go, Bruce! This is our last chance!”
Kathoom chirped frantically, as if the world was ending. But he still made no move to flee, only keeping up his chatter.
Bruce whispered, “Kathoom… you actually believe I can win, don’t you?”
He trusted his gut—Kathoom believed he could win.
But how?
His magic wasn’t working. Bruce couldn’t see any path to victory.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,”
Kathoom muttered, shaking his head. “A doomed world—who cares about winning or losing—LOOK OUT!”
Bruce’s eyes snapped open, realizing Deathstroke was already upon him, casting a dark shadow.
Deathstroke raised his twin swords, ready to strike.
He intended to sever Bruce’s limbs, then take him to Barbatos—a plan he was finally about to execute.
But just then, a loud roar sounded from behind Bruce.
A red convertible, headlights blazing, burst through the sheets of rain, speeding towards them.
“Bruce, get down—”
The voice came from the car’s driver, an old man with white hair, drenched from the storm. His eyes blazed with fifty years’ worth of undying fire.
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