Chapter 16:Deathstroke

The night sky above Detroit was suffocating, cloaked in darkness save for the occasional flicker of distant neon signs. On the rooftop of the dilapidated building, the air felt thick with tension. Remy LeBeau, dressed in his sleek suit, his face concealed beneath his purple helmet, stared across at Deathstroke. The mercenary stood tall and imposing, the single eye of his mask locked onto Remy with cold calculation. His infamous orange and black armor gleamed under the faint light, a testament to his countless battles and conquests.

For a moment, neither man moved, the silence between them deafening. This was the showdown that had been inevitable since the moment Deathstroke had dragged Remy into this deadly game. Jaime and his mother had been saved, thanks to Cassandra's intervention, but the battle was far from over. The real fight was about to begin.

Deathstroke's voice broke the silence, low and measured. "You know, LeBeau, I had plans for you," he said, his tone almost conversational. "I was going to make you my apprentice. With your skills, we could've made a lot of money."

Remy smirked beneath his helmet, his grip tightening on the Bo staff in his hands. "Money don't mean a damn thing to me, mon ami," he replied, his Cajun accent thick with defiance. "But messin' with my friends? That's where you made your mistake."

Deathstroke's eye narrowed. "Is that so?" he said, his voice dripping with a mix of amusement and menace. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, every step radiating power and danger. "You should've taken the offer. Now, I'll have to kill you."

Before Deathstroke could even finish his sentence, Remy sprang into action. His staff twirled in his hands like a blur, and with a sudden thrust, he lunged forward, aiming directly for Deathstroke's chest. Deathstroke reacted quickly, blocking the strike with his sword, but the force of Remy's attack sent him skidding backward.

The fight was on.

Remy moved with the fluid grace of a seasoned fighter, his Bo staff spinning and striking with lethal precision. He was relentless, his attacks coming in fast and hard, each one infused with a burst of kinetic energy that sent shockwaves through Deathstroke's defenses. Deathstroke parried and dodged, but Remy's speed was overwhelming. The mercenary found himself on the back foot, struggling to keep up with the barrage of blows.

Deathstroke slashed his sword in a wide arc, aiming to catch Remy off guard, but the Cajun was already a step ahead. He leapt into the air, twisting his body mid-flight, and landed behind Deathstroke with a flick of his wrist. Three glowing cards sailed through the air, their edges crackling with pink energy, aimed directly at Deathstroke's back.

Deathstroke barely had time to spin around, swatting the cards away with his sword, but the explosion knocked him off balance. The ground beneath him trembled as the charged cards detonated, and Remy was on him again, his staff slamming into Deathstroke's midsection with a sickening thud. Deathstroke grunted in pain, his body doubling over from the force of the hit.

"You're fast," Deathstroke growled, his voice strained, but there was a hint of admiration in his tone. "But I'm faster."

In a blur of motion, Deathstroke recovered, swinging his sword with deadly precision. The blade sliced through the air toward Remy's head, but he ducked just in time, the sword missing him by inches. Deathstroke pressed the attack, his sword flashing in a series of vicious strikes. But for every slash, Remy had a counter. His staff blocked and deflected the blows, the metal clanging with each impact. It was like a deadly dance, a symphony of violence, with neither man willing to give an inch.

But Remy had one advantage that Deathstroke couldn't match—his powers.

As Deathstroke lunged forward with another strike, Remy slapped his palm against the mercenary's chest, his fingers crackling with pink energy. Deathstroke's eye widened in surprise, and in the next instant, the energy exploded, sending him flying backward across the rooftop. He crashed into the ground, sliding to a stop near the edge of the building.

Remy walked forward, his Bo staff spinning in his hand, his steps measured and calm. "Told you, mon ami," he said, his voice cold. "You messed with the wrong guy."

Deathstroke struggled to his feet, his body battered but still defiant. He lifted his sword, but before he could move, a figure darted out of the shadows. Ravager—Deathstroke's apprentice, his daughter—appeared out of nowhere, her movements as swift and deadly as a predator's. With a powerful kick, she knocked Remy off balance, sending him stumbling backward.

"Good job, Ravager," Deathstroke said, his voice tinged with approval. "Let's get out of here."

But before Deathstroke could take a step, Ravager's expression hardened, her grip tightening on her sword. Without a word, she drove the blade into Deathstroke's chest, the sound of metal piercing armor echoing through the night.

Deathstroke's eye widened in shock, his body stiffening as he looked down at the sword buried in his chest. "What…?" he gasped, his voice barely a whisper.

Ravager's face was unreadable as she twisted the blade, her voice cold and resolute. "I quit."

With a powerful shove, she kicked Deathstroke off the edge of the building. His body disappeared into the darkness below, the sound of his fall swallowed by the night.

For a moment, the rooftop was silent. Remy got to his feet, his heart still racing from the unexpected turn of events. He walked to the edge of the building, peering down, but there was no body. Just the faint sound of the wind as it whipped through the streets below.

"He's not dead," Ravager said quietly, her voice breaking the silence. "He escaped."

Remy turned back to her, his mind reeling. "What the hell's goin' on here?" he asked, his voice filled with confusion and frustration.

Ravager hesitated for a moment before reaching up and pulling off her mask. Beneath it was Rose—Deathstroke's daughter, the woman who had been haunting Remy's thoughts since the moment they met. Her eyes met his, filled with a mixture of guilt and something deeper, something more vulnerable.

"I need to explain," Rose said, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "I was on a mission. My father sent me to get close to you, to extract information from you. That's why I was with him. But…" She trailed off, biting her lip as she struggled to find the right words. "But somewhere along the way, I forgot about the mission. I forgot about him. I just… I liked being around you. It felt nice to be a regular girl for once."

Remy stood there, silent, trying to process what she was saying. His mind raced with a hundred different thoughts, but one thing stood out above all the others—she had betrayed him. Everything she had done had been a lie.

Rose looked down at the ground, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm sorry, Remy. I didn't mean to hurt you. If you never want to talk to me again, I understand."

She turned to leave, her steps slow and heavy, the weight of her confession hanging in the air. But before she could take more than a few steps, Remy moved. His hand reached out, grabbing her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

"Wait," he said, his voice soft but firm. Slowly, he pulled off his helmet, revealing his face, his eyes locking with hers. "I forgive you, chérie."

Rose blinked in surprise, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, they stood there, just looking at each other, the tension between them melting away into something softer, something warmer.

"I'm leaving Detroit," Rose said after a long pause, her voice quiet but determined. "I need to figure out who I am, what I want for my life. I can't keep living in my father's shadow."

Remy nodded, understanding. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, handing it to her. "Just to remember me by," he said with a playful smile, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

Rose took the card, her fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. "This is just to remember me by?" she asked, her voice teasing but filled with emotion.

Before Remy could respond, she leaned forward and kissed him. It was soft at first, tentative, but then it deepened, the two of them losing themselves in the moment. For a brief second, nothing else mattered—not Deathstroke, not the missions, not the danger. Just them.

When Rose finally pulled away, she smiled softly, her eyes shining with a mixture of sadness and hope. "Goodbye, Remy LeBeau," she whispered.

She slipped her mask back on, and without another word, she turned and jumped off the rooftop, disappearing into the night.

Remy stood there for a long moment, staring after her, the cool night air brushing against his skin. He knew he might never see her again, but a part of him hoped that their paths would cross someday.

"Goodbye, Rose Wilson," he whispered into the wind, his voice carrying her name into the darkness.

As he stood there, alone on the rooftop, Remy couldn't help but smile. Life was complicated.