Fang Cheng heard these words, and his expression instantly froze.
He lowered his head, his eyes flickering behind his glasses, seemingly weighing the pros and cons.
A few seconds later, he sighed, with a deep sense of regret in his tone:
"That’s truly a pity."
"What..."
Ghost Scythe was stunned when he heard this, not yet comprehending the aning of the words.
The next second.
Fang Cheng’s previously trembling wrist suddenly locked into place like a precision chanical arm.
Bang, bang, bang, bang—
Four gunshots, almost forming a single line.
This wasn’t random shooting.
At the mont of pulling the trigger, Fang Cheng’s wrist trembled at an incomprehensible high frequency, causing the gun barrel to swing in a bizarre arc.
Four bullets flew out of the chamber, tracing four distinctly different arcs of death in the air.
Each targeted Ghost Scythe’s forehead, throat, heart, and lower abdon!
"Ghost Shooting!"
With the support of an Agility of up to 64 and Dynamic Vision, this gun fighting skill was so fast that the opponent didn’t have ti to think.
Any ordinary mutant would have been made into a sieve by now.
But Ghost Scythe was, after all, the renowned ace assassin of Black Shark, and the intuition honed from walking the edge of life and death
made him instinctively react beyond human limits the instant Fang Cheng’s gaze changed.
Whoosh!
His entire body folded backward in an incredibly twisted posture, as if boneless.
At the sa ti, his feet exerted force, creating spiderweb-like cracks on the ground as he moved sideways like lightning.
Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh!
Three bullets whizzed past his nose, collar, and waist, trailing a scorching airflow.
But the last bullet, with a strange curve, seed to predict his landing point as if it had eyes.
"Snap!"
A crisp sound.
Ghost Scythe felt a coolness on his left ear, followed by a burning sensation.
The bullet had precisely grazed his hair, knocking off the communication earpiece hanging on his ear.
Ghost Scythe tapped the tip of his toe, leaping over ten ters to the left, and stood his ground once more, his eyes full of fury:
"Curve Shooting Technique? You’re not a desk jockey!"
This was a skill no ordinary agent could master.
This is a top-tier gun fighting skill honed in the rain of bullets!
Fang Cheng did not press the attack.
He stood still, lowering his arm.
"Click."
Magazine emptied, slide locked back.
The handgun, now devoid of bullets, was tossed to the ground, landing with a clear tallic clink.
"Desk jockey?"
Fang Cheng removed his gold-rimd glasses, snapped them casually, and tossed them into the wind.
He looked up, staring intently at Ghost Scythe.
Those once clear and gentle eyes now seed as dark as an Abyss, with a chilling red glimr burning in the depths of his pupils.
"Sort of."
Fang Cheng twisted his neck, which emitted a series of cracking sounds like popping beans.
"After all, I do enjoy reasoning. But since reasoning doesn’t work..."
Rrrrip—
Accompanied by the mournful sound of tearing fabric.
Fang Cheng’s loose gray jacket, along with the shirt underneath, suddenly burst open without warning.
The pieces flew like butterflies, revealing bare muscles.
What a physique!
In Ghost Scythe’s astonished gaze, Fang Cheng’s seemingly thin body suddenly swelled as if inflated.
Muscle fibers tightened like steel cables, bunching up and hardening furiously beneath his skin.
Pectorals, back muscles, deltoids...
Every muscle was clearly defined, reflecting a dark golden tallic sheen, like a living statue of a Demon God.
A terrifying heat erupted from his body, steaming golden flas and waves that distorted the surrounding air.
Fang Cheng, bare-chested, stood on the chilly roof terrace like a towering statue in the cold wind.
He crooked a finger towards the dumbfounded Ghost Scythe, a sinister smile spreading across his lips:
"Then I have no choice... but to convince you physically."
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