Melissa and Bruce kept their stances sharp, but the silence between them carried the weight of grim realization.
Melissa's knuckles tightened on her daggers, her gaze darting over the god-candidate's flawless frame.
No scratch, no dent—nothing to suggest he could even be harmed. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she finally spoke, her voice low but edged with urgency.
"What do we do? My blades didn't even leave a mark."
Bruce kept his sword steady, though doubt gnawed at the back of his mind.
His strikes were usually enough to tear through plate armor, yet the sight of Melissa's fruitless assault confirmed what he feared.
"He's not like the opponents we have faced till now. That aura… it's not just power, it's shielding him. If we keep going in blind, we'll burn out before we even touch him."
Bruce muttered.
Melissa's jaw clenched.
"Then are you suggesting we retreat?"
Bruce shook his head, a grim chuckle escaping him despite the tension.
