ThirdPov ...
Deathstroke stepped calmly over the frozen floor, shards of ice crunching softly beneath his boots. Moments earlier, he'd put a single round through the boy in front of him, only to watch the body burst apart into a cloud of smoke instead of collapsing to the ground.
"...Interesting."
His grip on the Glock tightened ever so slightly.
Not an illusion.
The bullet had connected.
He'd felt the resistance.
Yet whatever he'd destroyed wasn't flesh and blood either.
Some kind of physical duplicate.
"...Waller and her metahuman headaches."
The words had barely left his mouth when movement entered the corner of his vision.
Alex.
Without warning, he appeared directly in front of Deathstroke, driving a combat knife toward his neck.
Slade reacted on instinct.
His body twisted just enough for the blade to miss before his Glock came up, the muzzle nearly touching Alex's stomach.
Bang!
The shot rang out at point-blank range.
Alex had already moved.
His body shifted to the side as though he'd anticipated the trigger pull itself, slipping past the bullet before spinning into a roundhouse kick.
Deathstroke raised his forearm.
Thud!
The impact echoed through the room, but his footing never faltered.
Almost simultaneously, his own combat knife flashed into his free hand, stabbing straight toward Alex's chest.
Poof!
Smoke exploded between them.
"...Another one."
Before the cloud had even cleared, two more Alexs rushed him.
One from the front.
One from his left.
Without a moment's hesitation, Deathstroke drew his second pistol.
Bang!
Bang!
Both rounds struck true.
Both Alexs vanished into smoke.
Silence returned.
For only a heartbeat.
"...This is more troublesome than I expected."
His eyes swept across the room, searching every doorway, every shadow, every possible angle.
Whoever this kid was...
His duplicates weren't ordinary.
Deathstroke had encountered metahumans capable of creating copies before. Most shared damage, transferred memories, or simply acted as distractions.
These...
These were different.
They possessed enough substance to fight.
Enough independence to attack from multiple directions.
Yet the moment they suffered fatal damage, they simply dispersed into smoke.
Most importantly...
He still didn't know one thing. How many could the boy create?
Until he answered that question...
Every target was a potential threat.
And every kill could just be another test.
Slowly, Deathstroke walked through the house, every sense on full alert.
Instantly, five Alexs appeared from different directions, the original hidden among them. Without a moment's hesitation, Deathstroke raised both pistols and fired a series of precise shots aimed at their heads.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Each bullet was effortlessly avoided as every Alex shifted just enough to evade the rounds, their movements seemingly a step ahead of the trigger pull.
"I can't drag this out. I have to find a way to end this fast," Alex thought as he charged alongside the clones.
He wasn't the only one thinking the same.
Realizing gunfire was no longer the most effective option, Deathstroke smoothly re-holstered both pistols and charged forward. He ducked beneath the first clone's punch before driving his own fist into its chest, sending it flying. Without breaking stride, he weaved between the second and third clones, snapping one's arm before striking the other's ribs with enough force to stagger it.
The remaining two closed in with combat knives. Deathstroke sidestepped the first strike, re-angled his body, and disarmed the clone in a single fluid motion. Catching the knife mid-air, he immediately drove it across the fifth clone's neck.
Puff...
The clone disappeared into a cloud of smoke.
In that instant, Deathstroke noticed the slight wince on one Alex's face as he instinctively grabbed his arm.
The original.
His instincts reached the conclusion before his mind finished the thought.
Without wasting another second, he accelerated toward Alex. Years of military training and countless battles told him the same thing.
Eliminate the original before he has a chance to recover.
Cracking my arm, I rolled my shoulders before sending the remaining clones charging toward Deathstroke.
"He has power, but lacks the skill."
That was the conclusion Deathstroke came to as he weaved through two clones before attacking the third the same way he'd dispatched the fifth.
Something changed.
Throb...
The clone caught his attack.
Instead of disappearing, it immediately threw a punch at him.
Deathstroke reacted instantly, dodging before somersaulting away as a second clone lunged in, trying to tackle him. The three clones attacked in predictable, almost desperate patterns, yet they were fast and relentless. Something about the exchange didn't sit right with him.
His instincts screamed at him.
He trusted those instincts more than anything.
Moving without hesitation, he continued weaving through their attacks, countering each strike with practiced precision. Slipping past the second clone, he drove his knife into its chest.
Puff...
The clone vanished into smoke.
"He caught on pretty fast... but that should be enough," I thought as I moved in alongside the remaining clones.
This time...
Deathstroke couldn't find the openings that had been there moments earlier.
The attacks were sharper.
The coordination was cleaner.
Every movement was more tactical than before.
Alex and the remaining clones had somehow improved in the middle of the fight.
"He improved... That's not possible."
Deathstroke's expression remained calm, but he no longer held back. He closed the distance and struck at the original, only for Alex to weave past the attack before driving a punch toward his chest.
Slade caught the strike with an open palm.
"That movement..."
His eye narrowed behind the mask.
"That was my technique."
The realization struck him almost immediately.
"So that's what he was doing."
"Those clones weren't trying to overwhelm me..."
"They were baiting me into revealing my fighting style."
Another question followed just as quickly.
"How?"
"Is he learning through those clones... or is it something else?"
Deathstroke didn't know the answer.
But he understood one thing with absolute certainty.
If this fight continued...
Alex wouldn't remain the same opponent he'd engaged a few minutes ago.