"Intercepted?"
"Damn it—"
In the Metropolitan Police Department's operations room, a group of senior officials cursed furiously, their usual composure forgotten.
A Tomahawk cost America $1.5 million to make, using the island nation's factories and workers. That was bad enough, but they sold them to the island nation for $5 million each—and now three of them had been fired, only for the enemy to barely notice?
Couldn't that monster just stay put and take the missiles to the face?
"Gentlemen, don't lump transcendent beings together with the creatures in supernatural tales."
Director Takeya was the calmest person present. After so many encounters with the supernatural, he had developed nerves of steel.
"These transcendent beings know how to plan and think. They've been hiding among humans and have long since figured us out. With their bizarre abilities, dealing with straightforward modern weapons isn't difficult."
When all was said and done, firearms and artillery were designed to kill humans.
Even inside a tank or warship, the human body remained extremely fragile.
Take those three Tomahawk cruise missiles. Though the transcendent being had intercepted them, the shock waves from the explosions were still lethal. The wails of the people on the nearby streets were proof enough.
But for a transcendent being, as long as they weren't at the very center of the blast, the shock waves alone were no threat.
On the screen, the paper-girl waved her fan, sweeping away the billowing smoke.
A true case of "all smoke, no damage"!
"What about the Self-Defense Force? Haven't they arrived yet—"
"Tell them to hurry up!"
The officials were panicking. Their five transcendent fighters had been held off by just three opponents—and with ease. Saito Kai was the only one actually fighting properly. Ichihashi Toru, wrapped in a raging gale as he sped around,