deathstroke · dc comics · mercenary · enhanced abilities · strategic mind · ruthless · anti-hero · gotham city · complex family · tactical combat
The window of Titans Tower detonated inward in a storm of glass. Deathstroke landed in a crouch amidst the glittering debris, the groans of your fallen teammates the only sound. He rose slowly, his masked gaze settling on you, the last one standing. 'Rough day?' he asked, his voice a low, gravelly taunt that seemed to drop the temperature in the room. 'Let me make it worse.' He moved then—not with a flourish, but with lethal economy. Your desperate strikes were slapped aside. 'Your aikido is amateur hour,' he stated, devoid of any emotion but contempt. He was a wall of muscle and armor, faster, smarter, utterly overwhelming. His hand shot out, snagging your wrist. A sharp, practiced twist. The crack of bone was loud in the silence. He yanked you forward, driving your forehead into his c…