Multiverse: Deathstroke-Chapter 455: Ambush Turns Assault

Meanwhile, the Titans squad, with Steel's help, had retooled a Boom Tube teleporter into a shipping-container-style rig, planning to yeet themselves onto an alien ship in geosynchronous orbit.

They picked the biggest, flashiest ship as their target.

Usually, the flagship's the grandest, right? Makes sense.

Truth was, Batman hadn't told them squat about Blood Reef—that cosmic coral mountain was the aliens' unsinkable HQ.

But the Titans' hotheaded crew just piled into the teleporter, strapping themselves into chairs like it was no big deal.

"Nat, punch it!"

Garth auto-appointed himself captain, barking at Steel to get the damn thing moving.

Steel's full name was Natasha Jasmine Irons, so Garth called her "Nat"—a teammate nickname.

Thing is, he could get away with nicknaming Donna or Raven, maybe Beast Boy too, but Steel was a Titans newbie. He barely knew her—kinda rude.

Good thing Steel was a science geek. She didn't give a damn about names, just shot Garth a "you're an idiot" look.

"This is a Boom Tube variant—point-to-point transfer. There's no 'punching it.'"

"Uh, just make it go, then." Garth scratched his head. Too fancy—brain hurt!

"It's actually space moving, not us—"

Steel fiddled with the gear, ready to explain more, but Raven cut her off.

Garth was a textbook berserker—talk all you want, he wouldn't get it. Like Aquaman, he just charged in swinging.

If Steel wanted to fit in, she'd better learn from Raven—never bother explaining magic theory to Garth. It'd just make him flip.

Science was a bust too, apparently.

"Chat with him about fish ecology," Donna said from the back row, arms crossed, exasperated.

She almost missed rolling with Deathstroke. Sure, his plans were weird as hell and often gross.

But they worked—100% hit tactical and strategic goals.

She just had to pitch in a little—guard the mage, clear grunts, done.

Plus, he'd split clean after, leaving all the "save magic" cred to her, Bobo, and Zatanna.

Mercs and hired sorcerers didn't care about fame.

Without this alien mess, Donna'd be getting a hero's welcome from the magic crowd right now.

Casting had a cost now, but beats no magic, right? Losing it—or seeing folks warped into freaky corpses by it—made them value what they'd taken for granted.

Magic wasn't a given—it was hard-earned treasure. Every spell had its price.

As the "savior of magic," sorcerers hyped Donna up as Mister Mxyzptlk's contractor. Her rep was soaring—she could rally a crew stronger than her sister's Dark Justice League with one shout.

But she didn't. One, alien sea-tribe invasion—Earth was toast otherwise.

Two, she knew she hadn't earned it. Deathstroke ditched the credit; she wouldn't snatch it.

Amazons don't claim others' kills.

If someone bagged prey and shared a cut, she'd take it—return the favor next hunt. But if they ditched it to rot, she wouldn't touch it.

Amazon warrior pride.

That got her worrying about Paradise Island again.

A little island—how's it holding up?

It had divine protection before, but with Mxyzptlk in charge, didn't Earth's gods lose their juice?

Their power, swiped from Hecate, was really Hecate's swipe from Mxyzptlk. Now the OG owner was back, a new main-world concept.

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Her godly gear still worked, but the island's magic arrays? Those were Witch Council jobs—daily prayer recharges.

She was a bit late catching on, though—Batman clocked it ages ago. He didn't know the magic world's deal, but he'd had global satellite feeds earlier.

This morning, he'd seen Paradise Island drowning.

He knew if Diana vanished and he let the Amazons turn fish, she'd come back pissed—and he'd have no excuse.

League unity could crack. He had to stop that.

So Batman sent Young Justice, led by Diana and Donna's niece Cassie, to evac the Amazons.

Cassie got picked because her mom was tight with Diana and Donna—not Amazon, but sister-close.

It's messy, though—Cassie's dad was Zeus, making her a legit demigod. Technically, Diana and Donna's sister.

Diana didn't care about Zeus's drama—she went maternal, calling herself Cassie's aunt. Donna was little aunt.

Batman told Cassie to make the Amazons get it—evac wasn't disrespecting warriors; it was Queen Diana's order. Follow it.

Cassie'd smirked—grown-ups and their lies. Diana was MIA, and Batman was faking her name.

Imagine the Amazons hitting a temp shelter, no Diana in sight. They'd hunt Batman down later.

Amazons had legendary warriors galore—beyond Diana and Donna, tons of named badasses roamed out there.

Every one could snap Batman's ribs like Diana.

But League's his show—Cassie followed orders.

So Young Justice bailed the Hall early—didn't even cross paths with the Titans.

While Donna mused, Steel finished tweaking. Turning an Earth-range teleporter into a cosmic cannon with a return trip? Tricky.

Even for her—a teen at quantum physics' peak—sweat dripped down.

But she nailed it.

Next second, the pod's window view flipped.

From the Hall's snowy alien-rock walls to glowing alien alloy.

They'd hit the alien "flagship."

As the teleporter stopped, a rumble and hard shake caught up. Everyone rocked in their seats.

Garth, hyped, unbuckled—eyes bloodshot, snorting like a bull—bolted out of the pod.

The rest had to follow.

The Titans had years of teamwork—a solid playbook—just a slightly janky roster.

Right now, it was tank Donna, berserker Garth, weapon-fighter Steel, bear-druid Beast Boy, and warlock Raven.

No wonder old Deathstroke used to mop the floor with them.

Long-term squads with extra sorcerers made sense—magic's versatile.

Like, Alberta's spells hit harder and teleport easy; Zatanna casts faster with a higher ceiling.

But why so many front-line meat shields? Nightwing'd make it worse—another melee.

Garth had water knives, Donna her Vulcan sword, Steel her dual hammers—same deal.

Raven, though? DC's luckiest girl. Not just a "doting" dad—on missions, four or five warriors babysat her lone warlock ass. What a gig!

Down below, facing hundreds of Trenchers, Nightshade only had two fighters.

Too many melee brought issues. Unless it's a hulking foe like Barbatos, a normal-sized badass shows up—your melee swarm's swinging what?

You'd dodge the enemy and eat friendly fire instead.

"This is a decapitation op—keep it quiet," Garth said, eyes red, turning to the team like he still had some smarts.

Steel gave him another "idiot" stare, nodding forward.

"Boom Tube tech makes a huge racket when the fourth dimension reconnects to reality. That's why it's called Boom! Tube!"

Garth turned. A mob of bizarre sea-tribe goons, weapons waving, charged from the corridor's bend.

He hissed through his teeth, rubbing his face.

"Alright—plan's now full assault! Let's go!"

The fishmen agreed—straight-up brawl. They let out war cries no one got.

"Rua!!!!!"

"Raven, what're they saying?" Garth raised his water knife, ready. He could harden water into curved blades.

Pointless question—classic Garth.

This lineup had perks—Raven was real chill.

How could she not be? Warriors walled her in—she couldn't even see ahead sometimes. Just strolled behind, no need to cast.

Translation magic was a snap, but she didn't waste brainpower on nonsense.

"Even without magic, I'd guess they're saying 'Kill!'—same as us."

Raven deadpanned, tossing Garth a half-assed answer.

Garth nodded gravely—like he'd found inspiration somewhere—spun back, and roared at the fishmen.

"Rua!!!!!"

Louder, meaner than theirs.

Next moment, Donna swore she saw confusion on the fishmen's faces. Alien expressions might not match Earth's, but their eyes screamed it.

"Is this human a freaking moron?"

"Rua!!!!!" was complex. Alien tongues weren't Earth's. That short sound was a millennia-old sea-tribe phrase.

It meant—"Cursed Earth creatures, fit only to die choking on seafloor shit!" Their harshest punishment: death by communal waste.

Now Garth bellowed it, and the aliens froze, dumbfounded.