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"Report — bullets are ineffective!"
Watching every round veer off course and fly backward, the squad leader immediately called it in over the comms.
By then, Natsuki had already changed into his Defense Force Suit. The thing conformed to his body the moment he slipped it on.
To the soldiers, it just looked like the guy had suddenly swapped outfits, faint golden arcs crackling across his skin.
The fight with Godzilla and Rodan hadn't pushed him anywhere near his limit. He'd still had plenty in the tank when he de-transformed. Now, with the suit on, the power he could put out without even transforming was beyond anything these people could picture.
"Squad Two, attack!"
The order crackled over the comms. Snipers positioned at range pulled their triggers without hesitation.
BOOM!
Anti-materiel rifles erupted in muzzle flash. Armor-piercing rounds crossed the distance in an instant, converging from elevated positions on all sides.
As the sniper units opened up, Squad One on the rooftop joined in, pouring fire down to suppress him from every angle.
Their logic was simple: they were burning bullets. He was burning stamina. Keep this up long enough and he'd run dry.
Except every bullet that came anywhere near Natsuki bent away. Some invisible force redirected them before they could connect. Rounds fired from a distance simply had no path to him.
The so-called hail of gunfire just chewed craters into the rooftop concrete. The figure standing in the middle of it all didn't even flinch.
"Sometimes deterrence is necessary."
"There are always people who won't behave otherwise." Natsuki's suit shifted slightly as he swept his gaze across the soldiers in front of him. He took a step forward into the fire.
The bulletproof man kept coming.
The soldiers kept backing up. They were already at the rooftop door.
"Damn it!" The squad leader felt the pressure rolling off him and made a decision. He threw his rifle aside and pulled his tactical knife.
Guns were useless. Couldn't land a hit. Fine. Cold steel it was.
As Natsuki closed the gap, the snipers in Squad Two held their fire. Any shot now would tear through their own people.
Reverse grip on the knife.
The squad leader in khaki stepped forward. Military close-quarters technique was muscle memory at this point — his strike drove straight for the throat.
These were hardened soldiers. CQC was worthless against a Titan, but against a human-shaped target? This was exactly what they were built for.
He went straight for the opening.
And this guy was full of them. Openings so obvious an amateur could read them.
The knife screamed through the air, closing on Natsuki's throat.
Natsuki didn't defend. He just raised his foot.
THUD!
He moved second, but he moved faster. Before the squad leader's brain could catch up, the kick had already landed , square in the chest. The man launched backward like a bowling ball, crashed into the soldiers behind him, and the whole pile of them tumbled through the rooftop doorway.
It happened too fast. One clean, unadorned kick , too quick, too precise. Every opening in his form, and none of it mattered. Raw numbers covered everything.
The rest of the soldiers rushed him at once.
CLANG!
Knives came from every direction, stabbing at his chest and back. After a full round of attacks, they realized they hadn't broken through anything. Their hands were numb from the impact.
The dark green suit held like a second skin, hard as steel.
Then they saw the golden sparks crackling off it.
Something was wrong.
BOOM!
An energy pulse detonated outward without warning, lifting every one of them off their feet. They flew back, hit the ground, and the lights went out.
"Squad One is down."
"Target still standing." A military technician watching the feed called it in over the comms.
The sniper rounds came again. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Natsuki crouched low, raised his head, and pressed his right fist against the rooftop surface. Energy rippled across his suit, cycling and adjusting.
BOOM!
Armor-piercing rounds converged from every direction , but he was already gone. His figure shot forward and upward, leaving a web of cracks in the concrete where he'd been.
He rose into the open air. Form-fitting suit. Golden electricity dancing across his body. Hovering, looking down at everything they had.
"Target is airborne!"
"Open fire!"
A floating target was a stationary one. Every squad opened up simultaneously on command.
Rounds poured out continuously. The firepower came like a breaking storm, metal slugs pouring toward the figure in the sky, trying to drown him in sheer volume.
Gunfire became the only sound on the battlefield.
But all those bullets could do was drain him. The rounds swept past, unable to land anything real.
He'd already picked his target.
An armored vehicle, anti-tank missile system primed and ready to fire. Behind it, more military vehicles rolling steadily into position.
BOOM!
The first vehicle fired. The missile roared out, smoke punching straight up into the sky.
He ignored gravity. Reached out and grabbed the missile with one hand. Let it detonate against him.
Then walked out of the smoke without a scratch.
Amidst a chorus of frantic reports, he dropped straight down onto the armored vehicle.
CRASH!
The soldiers inside felt the whole world shake.
"We're under attack!"
"He's here!"
They were shouting, scrambling for their sidearms, bracing for whatever came through the door.
Then the evening light came in , not through any door. The steel hull of the armored vehicle split open, torn apart from the outside. Golden eyes looked in at them through the gap.
Then.
"ARGH—"
"NO!"
They came out through the tear in the hull, airborne and spinning.
Tumbling through the air, they caught it in their peripheral vision: the entire armored vehicle, crushed to scrap. The comms were nothing but screaming.
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