American comics: Starting with replicating Superman's talent

Chapter 159 The Bell Tolls for You

"Thump~"

Unsurprisingly, without a doubt, Clark, who rushed to the battlefield only to be knocked to the ground again, fell in a sorry state. His brown jacket was smashed into the dust, and even the brownish-yellow dirt could not hide the swollen and purplish-blue circles under his eyes.

The bridge of his nose was broken, and two bloody marks hung from his nostrils. His swollen cheeks proved that the boy had just suffered a brutal beating.

After losing his once-proud divine power, Clark realized that the gap between his fighting skills, speed, and even reaction ability and that of the masked mercenary was like the Pacific Ocean.

"Clang!"

The blade was drawn and grazed the boy's cheek, the smooth surface of the blade reddening Clark's right cheek, before whistling as it pierced the grass.

A sense of impending death washed over him, causing Clark to hold his breath.

Holly, who was helping Kayla put on her clothes not far away, shouted to Clark, "Kid, I admire your courage."

Just a minute ago, Clark suddenly charged out with terrifying momentum, like a wild bull charging straight at Deathstroke, even making Deathstroke mistakenly think that this person could also transform into a giant wolf or a giant lion.

However, it wasn't until they actually fought that Deathstroke realized his opponent was incredibly weak.

Deathstroke stared at Clark expressionlessly and uttered his final warning: "Kid, if you get in my way again, I'll kill you."

As a mercenary devoid of emotion, the reason he beat Clark up instead of killing him was simply because his son was also a high school student, about the same age as Clark.

Deathstroke is not a machine; he has emotions, but his patience also has its limits. If this kid dares to get in his way again, Deathstroke will kill him without hesitation.

With a few bits of weeds and dirt kicked up as he pulled out the blade, Deathstroke ignored Clark, who was standing there dumbfounded, and turned to walk towards the SUV with Holly.

Clark saw it.

He saw that the unconscious and weak Kayla was covered in blood.

He saw the black jacket the girl was wearing rubbing against the road, making a "rustling" sound, and a few dark red bloodstains left long scratches on the asphalt.

Her pale skin and bluish face were proof that the girl would die here if she did not receive effective treatment.

What should I do?

Clark asked himself a question.

Should he try to stop it, given his incapacitated state?

Countless chaotic thoughts flashed through my mind in an instant, until my adoptive father Jonathan's words of wisdom flashed through my mind: "Be the person you want to be!"

With unwavering willpower, Clark slowly stood up. Despite his trembling legs and blood-covered face, he forced himself to stand ramrod straight. A surge of anger rose in his chest, and the boy roared, "Put her down!"

"If you want to take Kayla away, you'll have to step over my dead body!"

With unwavering eyes and clenched fists, Clark charged fearlessly toward Deathstroke.

then

"Bang!"

The bullet precisely tore through his calf, and a tingling sensation swept over him, as if he had lost all feeling in his calf. Clark fell onto the road in an unseemly, dog-cheeked position, and the intense pain from his teeth hitting the concrete side of the road brought tears to his eyes.

Deathstroke shook his head, put away the pistol with its muzzle still smoking, and turned to Clark with a mocking look: "Just lie there, kid. Maybe you need to find another girl you have a crush on."

"Don't go!"

Clinging to the concrete, Clark gritted his teeth and crawled toward the death knell.

"Tsk."

Finally annoyed and fed up with Clark's persistent and persistent behavior, Deathstroke sighed and raised his gun with a sense of melancholy.

Holly gloated: "Well, it seems the death knell will toll for you today."

Grip the gun handle, no need to aim, pull the trigger.

The whistling bullet created a spiraling airflow as it flew toward Clark's forehead, like something out of a slow-motion movie.

And what will happen next is not hard to predict.

The boy who loses his ability will have his forehead pierced by a 300 m/s bullet, his brain crushed, and he will become a corpse.

"Bang!"

The warhead exploded suddenly less than a person's distance from Clark, as if it had hit an invisible wall.

The warhead shattered and exploded, with metal fragments falling to the ground after losing kinetic energy.

A pair of white sneakers gently stepped over the crumbs.

Everything in the universe, space and time seemed to stand still in that instant.

Fallen leaves, frozen in mid-air.

Clark, bruised and battered, lay sprawled on the ground.

Deathstroke, with a look of regret in his eyes,

All of this intertwines on the road, creating a picture of violence and battle.

"Ugh."

A soft sigh drifted through the air.

The next moment, it was like a pebble being thrown into a calm lake.

Leaves fall and wither, Clark closes his eyes and awaits death, while Deathstroke is on high alert.

Time resumed its flow.

"Gino, Gino?"

Clark stared at the tall figure standing in front of him.

No matter how many times Clark looked up at this backdrop, it always brought him a sense of peace and tranquility.

It seems that as long as this young man is there, all the problems in the world are just dust that dissipates with the wind.

"Clark".

The boy with dazzling blond hair turned his back to Clark, smiled, and shook his head: "I just asked you to retrieve a spaceship, but you almost lost your life."

"That's incredibly stupid."

"I," Clark smiled wryly, just about to say something, when Gino had already fixed his gaze on Deathstroke.

At this moment, Deathstroke had somehow drawn two swords from behind him, his one-eyed man filled with vigilance and apprehension.

His body was tense, his legs slightly bent, ready to start the battle at any moment.

His sixth sense, the experience he had accumulated from countless battles, told him this.

The mysterious boy who appeared out of nowhere was extremely dangerous and terrifying.

Few could make Deathstroke feel a deadly threat.

But he sensed a deep-seated fear emanating from this boy.

"So," Gino glanced indifferently at Deathstroke, "you injured my friend."

"How do you plan to die?"

Before he could finish speaking, his figure flashed.

"What!?" Deathstroke's pupils shrank, and he immediately lunged to dodge the incoming fist.

"Whoosh!!"

Even faster than the tackling was the powerful fist.

With a sonic boom and a tiger's roar, it crashed into Deathstroke's abdomen.

"Bang!"

It sounded like flesh being torn apart; a terrifying fist ripped through fascia and muscle, blood splattering everywhere, exposing the internal organs.

"Cough!" Blood spurted from his mouth, staining his mask red. Like a piece of trash thrown from a height, the orange-yellow figure flew backward, crashing heavily onto the concrete ground and then bouncing and rolling like a ball.

Suppressing the excruciating pain in his abdomen and ignoring the organs and tissues flying out of his abdominal cavity, Deathstroke plunged his knife into the ground, using the resistance of the earth to fly backwards for dozens of meters before finally coming to a stop.

"Huff, huff."

Clutching the blurry, disc-like wound on his abdomen, his body's self-healing factors began to operate frantically, and the missing organ within the wound began to slowly grow back, along with a growing, violent, and insane emotion rising in the single eye that was changing along with it.

"Heh heh~" The hissing sound squeezed out from between his teeth was chilling, and Deathstroke's gaze was fixed on the direction where Gino was.

Dropping his longsword and ignoring the blood splattering from his wounds, he charged at the boy with incredible speed, using both hands and feet, like a hyena.

According to research, the velocity of a pistol bullet is 300-450 meters per second.

The rifle's range is 700-900 meters per second.

Sniper rifles travel at 800-1000 meters per second.

(End of this chapter)