Deathstroke's blades were terrifyingly fast.
Schwing—!
The alloy steel cut through the air, reflecting a cold, blinding white glare that forced Deadshot to squint.
Deadshot instinctively crossed his twin submachine guns to parry the strike. The heavy katanas slammed into the steel barrels, erupting in a brilliant shower of sparks. The crisp, violent shriek of colliding metal echoed across the terminal, reaching the ears of Jude, who had just skidded into the station.
In a normal street fight, no one in their right mind would use a bladed weapon to strike a solid steel gun barrel. Doing so would completely ruin the weapon—chipping the edge, fracturing the blade, or snapping it clean in half.
But this wasn't a fight between normal people, and Deathstroke's swords were not normal blades. The moment Deathstroke had casually chopped a bullet out of the air outside, Deadshot knew the mercenary's weapons were forged from a highly advanced, indestructible alloy.
A massive kinetic shockwave traveled down the submachine guns, striking Deadshot's hands like a sledgehammer. The impact left his fingers entirely numb. His grip slipped, accidentally discharging two stray bullets that shattered the LCD departure schedule overhead.
As the katana slid violently down the barrel toward his unprotected fingers, Deadshot made a split-second decision: he dropped the guns.
Deathstroke was already inside his guard. Submachine guns were too bulky for extreme close-quarters anyway. Without missing a beat, Deadshot drew his twin sidearms from his waist, the muzzles immediately flashing as he unleashed a rapid barrage of fire. Instead of retreating, he lunged forward, pressing directly into the lethal inner circle of Deathstroke's reach. Deadshot's hand-to-hand combat skills were only marginally inferior to his marksmanship, and in his hands, dual pistols were melee weapons.
From the floor nearby, Jude secretly activated his "I Didn't Kill Anyone" skill, casting it over the two brawling titans. He sniffed the air, confirming there was no scent of fresh blood yet, which meant no civilians had been caught in the crossfire. Satisfied, he closed his eyes and went back to playing dead.
"Slade, get out of my way."
Deadshot spun, his pistols a blur. He fired two point-blank shots that miraculously deflected Deathstroke's descending blade, then drove his knee viciously into the super-soldier's armored abdomen.
Deathstroke instantly adapted. He absorbed the blow, stepping back and retracting his swords. He lowered one hilt to completely block Deadshot's follow-up strike, while simultaneously sweeping the other blade in a brutal arc toward the shooter's head.
Deadshot fired again, using the heavy recoil of his own pistols to accelerate his backward dodge. The razor-sharp tip of the katana grazed his cheek—but Deathstroke's second blade was already following through with a vicious upward thrust.
With no time to fully evade, Deadshot twisted his torso to absorb the impact. The immense force cleaved right through his reinforced breastplate. Bright red blood sprayed into the air as Deadshot was thrown onto the defensive.
The instant Deadshot's back was turned, Slade thrust his sword forward again. The fluid flexibility of his twin blades, combined with his superhuman physique, was beginning to crush Deadshot.
Bang!
A heavy round suddenly blasted from beneath Deadshot's armpit. It was the only viable angle he had left. Deathstroke couldn't see the blind shot coming from that awkward position, leaving his superhuman reflexes half a beat too slow. Even as he twisted his torso to dodge, the bullet tore through the armor of his left shoulder, shredding muscle and grazing the bone.
"Is this what you call precision, Floyd?"
Even with a bleeding shoulder, Deathstroke's relentless assault didn't pause for a microsecond. Amidst the hail of bullets, the electronic voice modifier in his mask projected a deep, oppressive growl. "You've become weaker."
Deadshot spun back around, raising his guns, just in time to see Deathstroke kick a nearby vending machine. The glass shattered, and highly pressurized, carbonated soda erupted outward like a colorful waterfall.
His vision suddenly obscured by the thick spray of foam and liquid, Deadshot didn't hesitate. His cybernetic eye instantly registered an abnormal shift in light and shadow at his ten o'clock.
Bang! Bang!
He fired both guns simultaneously. Driven by absolute, blind confidence, the two bullets spun through the curtain of soda, perfectly intercepting Deathstroke's hidden thrust and knocking the blades off course.
Clang!
One of the deflected bullets ricocheted hard off a load-bearing marble pillar. Behind it, an old man in a woolen hat was curled into a ball, shivering in terror and clutching a train ticket. The stray bullet struck him squarely in the chest. He let out a sharp cry of pain before collapsing slowly to the floor.
Blood began to pool from behind the pillar. Beneath their masks, both mercenaries frowned simultaneously, but their lethal dance didn't pause for a fraction of a second. Mercenaries were born to eliminate targets; they weren't paid to lose sleep over collateral damage.
"Enough!"
Batman's furious roar echoed from the station entrance. Two Batarangs carved dark arcs through the air, hurtling directly toward the fighting assassins.
Bang!Clang!
Deadshot casually raised a pistol and shot his out of the air, while Deathstroke lazily swatted his away with a sword. Completely ignoring the Dark Knight's warning, they kept trying to kill each other.
"I said, enough!"
Fwooosh—
A blinding, magnesium-white light suddenly erupted from the remains of the Batarangs on the floor. The flashbang forced both mercenaries to squeeze their eyes shut. Seizing the opening, Batman launched himself across the terminal toward them.
But Deathstroke had anticipated the shift in the battlefield. In one fluid motion, he unclipped a smoke grenade from his belt and smashed it at their feet.
A loud hiss filled the air, and thick, suffocating white smoke blanketed the combat zone in seconds. In the blink of an eye, all three men vanished into the fog.
Should I blow it away with blover? The thought crossed Jude's mind, but he immediately scrapped it. Better to stay out of it.
Instead, he moved. Moving silently across the floor like a ghost, he slipped behind the load-bearing pillar. He popped a piece of fruit candy into the bleeding old man's mouth, ensured the healing properties took effect, and immediately threw himself back onto the ground to play dead. Protected by the dense smoke, the deadly trio was completely oblivious to his little rescue mission.
Meanwhile, inside the smoke, the deafening roar of gunfire and the sharp whistle of blades resumed.
Deadshot flipped his pistols into a reverse grip, exposing his integrated wrist-guns. His right eyepiece whirred as it switched to infrared thermal vision. Through the thick chemical smoke, the heat signatures of Deathstroke and Batman glowed with incredible clarity.
Crossing his arms, he aimed and fired at both men simultaneously.
Clang, clang, clang!
Deathstroke's senses were equally extraordinary. When the smoke robbed him of his sight, he simply closed his eyes and let his hearing take over. The moment Deadshot's wrist-guns fired, Slade tilted his head, tracking the supersonic projectiles cutting through the air.
He swung his twin swords, deflecting the bullets one by one with impossible precision. Tracking the origin of the muzzle blasts, he immediately pressed forward, forcing Deadshot back into a brutal close-quarters suppression.
Deadshot was losing ground again. Deathstroke's regenerative healing factor had already kicked in; his bleeding shoulder was rapidly knitting itself back together, allowing him to dominate the melee exchange.
At the same time, Batman activated the thermal imaging in his cowl and plunged into the fray.
The situation instantly dissolved into a chaotic, three-way war. Deadshot fired at Deathstroke, Deathstroke slashed at Batman, and Batman threw brutal strikes at Deadshot. The three of them wrestled violently within the blinding fog.
"From that supporting pillar, forty-seven steps."
Deathstroke suddenly spoke: "You have been waiting for this moment, right?"
Deadshot was silent for a moment, then sneered, "Aren't you the same?"
Batman was a little confused, but then he took another step in the smoke, and his boots stepped on the railroad sleepers - this made his body unbalanced, and at the same time made him understand the meaning of the two people's words.
But it was too late now, the tiny mistake seemed so fatal at this moment, the roar of the train sounded in the station, the behemoth train rushed towards Batman on the track, and the joint attack of Deathstroke and Deadshot arrived at the same time.
Batman leaned back to avoid the bullets and double knives, and finally escaped from the smoke that obscured his vision.
However, when he glanced to the side, he saw the glaring light of the lights