"So that's how it was." Cindy stubbed out her cigarette and pocketed it. She patted Deadpool on the shoulder and casually praised him, "You were pretty reliable at the critical moment."
It was an inverted sentence. She had learned it from that man.
"Are you kidding? I'm super brave, okay?"
Deadpool flashed a crooked smile, but suddenly felt that the line he had blurted out instinctively was a little off, so he shut his mouth again.
"Could you explain in detail?" Little Superman had probably understood half of what the two of them were saying. In other words, he had not understood the other half at all. He had been busy intercepting the Charcoal Princess every time she got back up.
The other party's speed did seem to have slowed down a little, though it was not obvious. How had Deadpool noticed? By intuition?
"Do you know idealism, Clark?" Cindy did not let Deadpool speak. She immediately continued, raising her head to look at the sky as acid rain streamed rapidly down her armor. "And do you know blind-fighting techniques?"
"Of course. How else do you think I fought enemies when I fired Heat Vision and everything in front of my eyes turned red?" Superboy-Prime gave an affirmative answer. He knew a little of nearly every fighting technique that people could master.
In this era, ordinary people did not train in blind fighting. After all, equipment such as night-vision goggles existed. Only those who needed to counter military or police Flashbangs deliberately practiced it.
For example, assassins and gang enforcers, or Mercenaries who often worked in cities. Long ago, even if Deathstroke was hit by a Flashbang, he could still use sound to locate targets, shoot, and fight, accurately striking enemies while evading their attacks.
Superman's lack of blind-fighting skills