Devil in My Mind

Put a spin on THIS!

And they all lived happily ever-wait, what about Slade?

He did just sort of dive right into Vergil's Portal, dive right into the Eighth Circle of Hell.

Was this the appropriate place for him? Even Vergil admitted it was a compromise. Slade can definitely outwit, outfight, and overpower an array of devils.

Could he somehow return?

Is there no one who can truly stop him?

In HELL!

Slade sits on a pile of rubble, sharpening a Damascus Knife, a weathered hell-mobile parked a few meters behind him. His backdrop, a dystopian city.

A male figure strolls by mischievously with a chipper whistle.

Clang! Roll! Ominous beeping.

"Hey Mr. Wilson, I threw a pipe bomb under your car!"

He turns around.

BOOM! Explosion!

The hell-mobile is no more! He leaps to his feet and tries to peer through the blaze but it's hard to make out the culprit. All he can see is a winged silhouette giving him the bird.

"Hey Mr. Wilson, I spilled a jar of flesh-eating centipedes into your mask!"

Creepy crawlers! Under his Deathstroke mask!

"GRAH! How?!" he screams, trying to pull it off. But it's stuck!

"Hey Mr. Wilson, is that napalm raining over your house?!"

It's raining hellfire. There goes the tent!

With tiny monsters squirming all over his face, he frantically stumbles away from the burning campsite, still trying to rip off the mask.

Bump! He crashes into someone, someone with a real shit-eating grin shining in the shadows.

"What's the matter, Deathstroke? You're not afraid of the Underworld, are you? It suits you, ya know."

Finally, he gets the mask off and tries to shove it in the guy's face.

"Nope," his opponent huffs.

POW. He spins around and punches it out of his hand. Arms stretched wide and challengingly, this new adversary backs up and shouts...

"You wanna pick a fight with a Demon Killer? Why not fight me? I'm younger, stronger, and faster than the last guy. You wanna hunt me down? I won't make it easy, Mr. Wilson."

"Stop calling me that! Who the hell do you think you are?"

The Devil Hunter marches right up to his face, nose to nose. Wings bright, he looks like a cathedral statue come to life.

"I'm your worst nightmare."

For the Titans, his presence would be intriguing and welcome. A new friend and an undoubtably powerful one to have on the side of the good guys.

For Vergil, his presence would be comforting and reassuring. His elusive recollection of him offering solace in his moment of heartbreak is not one he'll forget.

For Control Freak, his presence would be, "Eeeeeee, so COOL!"

Unwilling to be subdued, Slade puffs up.

"You're not as scary as you think you are, angel."

"I'm Nephilim. My name is Dante."

"How special. Are you that has-been's son? That'll make killing you especially satisfying."

"Oh yeah? I know what you did. Vergil told me everything. Eat my Devil Trigger, fuck-nugget!"

Everything goes white, time begins to slow.

"GAH!" Slade grunts as he takes off running. Leaping over floating debris and tumbling over unstable ruins, he attempts to conceive a way to ward off this nightmare somehow.

"I know what you did, Deathstroke!"

A grappling hook? A magnificent sword? This one's gonna be tricky. He reminds Slade of the Devil Hunter he almost took out, sure. What's chilling is that he also reminds him of Robin, in the worst way.

"I'll mess you up with Rebellion! You're in my world now, Mr. Wilson!"

BANG BANG! Slade makes the mistake of glancing over his shoulder. A bullet grazes his cheek!

"Or how about I take you down with Ebony and Ivory?!"

"I'll take you down in the end!"

"You can try! We have all the time in the world, here in Hell!"

"You might win the battle today, but I'll win this war! Destroying you will be my pleasure!"

"I'm the one chasing you!"

SLAM! He lands right in front of him, pulls his hood over, redness under the fabric, fire all around him. His wings, they're too bright!

"Welcome to Limbo City. Enjoy your stay... you can never leave."