Half a kilometer from the airport, we received the warmest of welcomes.
A dozen airplane replicas, no bigger than civilian drones, fired their guns indiscriminately.
The entire street block was caught in their one-sided hellfire.
If not for one man standing at the street's highest point, drawing every bullet and bomb to himself.
As the black smoke hid his body, the blue light he cast pierced the sky, like a pillar of light.
Not a single building fell, and not a single person bled.
With the shockwaves of a thunderous clap, enhanced by his absurd strength, the toy planes surrounding us fell from the sky like flies.
Some had shattered, others exploded.
All of them became scrap metal.
Or rather, scrap plastic.
Marcus: "Everyone alright?"
The escort's crew members were shocked, but not by the electricity emanating from his body.
Toy or not, each bullet fired by the planes had enough power to break through the defenses of a top-tier adventurer.
