But Bruce was not ordinary.
Every time fatigue clawed at his consciousness, Heal flowed through his mind as well. Cleansing microfractures in focus. Restoring clarity. He burned through cognitive strain and rebuilt it instantly, a closed loop of destruction and restoration that no other living being could sustain. No one else could maintain Sovereign pressure while being pulverized inside a god crafted prison.
The Turtles were too blinded by triumph to notice.
They saw only a creature refusing to die. An anomaly. An irritation that persisted beyond reason. They did not see their own vitality destabilizing in increments too small for pride to measure.
The hammer fell again. This time he caught it, not to stop it, but to let it drive him downward while his Authority surged upward in counterpressure. The staff smashed into his back simultaneously. The shield crushed into his side.
He became the epicenter of contained devastation.
