"Shoot me," I said coldly, the golden light of my Saintly Body Skill still shimmering around me. "Right in the chest."
The hijacker's eyes widened, but his finger squeezed the trigger without hesitation. The shot rang out like thunder in the confined space of the cargo hold.
The bullet struck me squarely in the chest. There was no pain, just a peculiar sensation of pressure as the projectile made contact with the energy barrier surrounding my skin. The bullet flattened against my chest and fell harmlessly to the floor with a soft clink, leaving nothing but a small white mark on my shirt where it had hit.
"Impossible," the smaller hijacker whispered, his face drained of color.
His partner wasn't convinced. He fired again—twice, three times—each bullet meeting the same fate as the first. My body didn't even flinch from the impacts.
"My turn," I said, moving forward with deliberate slowness. No need for speed now; the terror in their eyes told me they wouldn't resist.
