Plop!
Without a doubt, without question, Clark, who had rushed to the battlefield, was knocked to the ground yet again in a sorry state. His brown jacket slammed into the dust, coating him in dirt. The yellowish-brown soil couldn't hide the swollen, bruised circles under his eyes.
His nose was broken, with two streaks of blood trailing from his nostrils. His swollen cheeks proved the young man had just endured a brutal beating.
After losing his vaunted superpowers, Clark finally realized the gap between his fighting skills, speed, and even his reaction time, and that of the masked mercenary, was like an entire ocean.
Clang!
A blade flashed out, scraping across the boy's cheek. The smooth blade reddened Clark's right face, then whizzed into the grass.
A sense of impending death washed over him, making Clark hold his breath.
Holly, who was helping Kayla put on her clothes nearby, shouted at Clark, "Kid, I admire your courage."
Just a minute ago, Clark had charged out with a terrifying momentum, like a beast charging head-on at Deathstroke. For a moment, Deathstroke had even mistaken him for someone who could transform into a giant wolf or lion.
But, after the exchange, Deathstroke found his opponent was pathetically weak.
Deathstroke stared at Clark, expressionless, and issued his final warning: "Kid, get in the way again, and I'll kill you."
As an emotionless mercenary, the only reason he had beaten Clark instead of killing him was because his own son was a high school student, around the same age as Clark.
Deathstroke wasn't a machine; he had emotions too. But his patience had limits. If this kid dared to get in the way again, Deathstroke wouldn't hesitate to kill him.
Pulling out his blade, it scraped some grass and dirt. Deathstroke ignored Clark, who was now standing there stunned, and turned towards the SUV with Holly.
Clark saw it.
He saw Kayla, unconscious and weak, covered in blood.
He saw the girl's black jacket scraping against the asphalt, producing a "shuffling" sound. Streaks of dark red blood trailed across the road.
Her pale skin and the bluish tinge of her face were undeniable evidence: if she didn't get immediate medical attention, she would die right there.
What should he do? Clark asked himself.
Should he intervene? Especially now, with his powers gone.
A whirlwind of thoughts flooded his mind, until the memory of his adoptive father, Jonathan's, words surfaced: "Be the person you want to be!"
With sheer willpower, Clark slowly stood up. Even though his legs trembled and his face was covered in blood, he forced himself to stand tall. A surge of air filled his chest, and the boy opened his mouth and roared, "Put her down!"
"If you want to take Kayla, you'll have to go through me!"
His gaze was firm, fists clenched, and Clark fearlessly charged towards Deathstroke.
Then...
BOOM!
The bullet ripped through his calf, a wave of numbness washing over him. It felt as though he'd lost all feeling in his lower leg. Clark landed in an undignified heap on the road, his teeth slamming against the concrete curb, and the sharp pain brought tears to his eyes.
Deathstroke shook his head, holstering his smoking pistol. Turning back to Clark, he couldn't resist a taunt, "Stay put, kid. Maybe you need to find a new girl to have a crush on."
"Don't go!"
Clark, gritting his teeth, clawed at the road, trying to crawl towards Deathstroke.
"Tch."
Finally annoyed by Clark's persistence, Deathstroke sighed and raised his gun with a mournful air.
Holly chimed in, enjoying the moment, "Well, it seems Deathstroke will be tolling the bell for you today."
He gripped the handle of the gun, didn't bother to aim, and pulled the trigger.
The whistling bullet carved a spiraling path through the air, like a slow-motion movie reel, hurtling towards Clark's forehead.
And what was about to happen was not hard to predict.
The powerless boy would have his forehead pierced by a 300 meters per second bullet, his brain turned to mush, and become a corpse.
BANG!
The bullet exploded abruptly, less than a meter from Clark, as if it had struck an invisible wall.
The bullet shattered, sending fragments of metal scattering and losing their momentum before falling to the ground.
A pair of white sneakers lightly stepped over the debris.
Everything in the world, space and time, seemed to freeze at that instant.
A leaf, suspended mid-air, its descent halted, Clark, face down on the ground, bruised and battered, Deathstroke, his eyes filled with a hint of regret, All of this wove together on the road a picture of violence and combat.
"Sigh."
A soft sigh swept through the area.
The next instant, it was as if a stone had been thrown into a still lake.
Falling leaves drifted down. Clark closed his eyes, awaiting death, while Deathstroke was on high alert.
Time began to flow again.
"Gi... Gino?"
Clark gazed at the tall figure standing before him.
No matter how many times he looked up at this silhouette, a sense of peace and tranquility would always wash over Clark.
It was as if with this young man present, all the world's problems were just dust, scattered by the wind.
"Clark."
The boy with the dazzling golden hair turned around, shaking his head with a smile. "You almost lost your life just going to retrieve a spaceship."
"How foolish."
"I…" Clark forced a smile, about to say something, but Gino had already turned his gaze toward Deathstroke.
Deathstroke had, at some point, drawn the two swords from his back, his single eye filled with wariness and apprehension.
His body was tense, his legs slightly bent, ready to fight at any moment.
His sixth sense, the experience he had accumulated from thousands of battles, told him.
The mysterious boy who had appeared out of nowhere was incredibly dangerous, incredibly terrifying.
Few people could make Deathstroke feel a lethal threat.
But he felt that bone-deep fear from this teenager.
"So," Gino glanced at Deathstroke indifferently, "You hurt my friend."
"How do you plan to die?"
Before the words had even faded, his form flickered.
"What!?" Deathstroke's pupils shrank, and he immediately dove to the ground to avoid the incoming fist.
"Swish!!"
Far faster than the dive was that powerful fist.
With a sonic boom and the roar of a tiger, it slammed into Deathstroke's abdomen.
"BOOM!"
A sound like flesh tearing echoed. The terrifying fist ripped through fascia and muscle, blood exploding outwards, revealing his internal organs.
"Cough!" A mouthful of blood spurted out, staining the mask red. Like garbage thrown from a height, the orange figure was sent flying, crashing heavily onto the concrete ground before bouncing and rolling like a ball.
Ignoring the excruciating pain from his abdomen and the organs that had flown out, Deathstroke plunged his knife into the ground, using the earth's resistance to stop his flight after traveling dozens of meters.
"Huff, huff."
Clutching the circular, blurred wound on his abdomen, his body's self-healing factor began to work frantically. The missing organs inside the wound slowly began to grow, and along with them, a brutal, frenzied emotion rose in his single eye.
"Hrrgh..." The roar squeezed from between his teeth was chilling. Deathstroke's gaze locked onto Gino's location.
Dropping the long blade, letting the blood gush from his wound, he charged towards the teenager like a hyena, moving swiftly on his hands and feet.
Consulting the data: Pistol bullets travel at a speed of 300-450 meters per second, Rifle bullets travel at 700-900 meters per second, Sniper rifle bullets travel at 800-1000 meters per second.
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(End of Chapter)