At first, K fired a few shots to try to cover Agent Su, but after ten seconds, he gave up and simply watched.
He was no help at all and might even accidentally hurt his teammate.
This mysterious Agent Su was simply too strong. He was powerful and fast, practically inhuman. Even that half-broken liquor bottle became an instrument of endless tricks in his hands; no two stabbing motions were alike.
Eyes, ear canals, bellies, mouths—his attacks came from impossible angles, impossible to guard against.
Though K did not know much about martial arts, his age had given him experience and perspective. Fighting techniques were, bluntly put, methods for close-quarters combat, chiefly involving how to exert force and deflect it. It was only natural for agents sent by China for exchange programs to possess a few combat skills.
But for someone so young to display more than a dozen techniques capable of fighting Aliens hand-to-hand in such a short time was simply unbelievable.
Of course, while he and J were astonished, neither had any intention of digging into deeper secrets. Headquarters had already examined the two agents and confirmed they were both human beings from Earth. There was nothing more to say. Trust science. Besides, they were teammates.
The Aliens opposite them now looked as if they had seen a ghost. By the time Deathstroke had killed more than twenty of them, some had already begun to flee in panic.
Even so, the agent in white had no intention of letting them escape, as though he were the one with a weapon while they were all holding mere fire pokers.
He darted through the nightclub's colored lights like a ghostly shadow, catching up with each criminal and killing them cleanly and efficiently.
Even when they fired at him like madmen,