St George withstanding 100 guns firing at him, breathing fire

The Seventeens roared.
They opened fire.
Rifles. Pistols. Machine guns. Hundreds of firearms all aimed at him.
St. George closed his eyes and let one leg settle off the ledge to brace himself. The bullets were heavy rain beating on his body. They hit every inch of him. His skin rippled. His muscles stung. His third leather jacket in a week became tatters, torn away in the high-caliber wind that tried to drive him back.
Under the percussion of gunfire he could hear the screams. Civilians pelted with hot casings as they tried to plug their ears. There were elderly people and children in the crowd. They were terrified.
It was going to get worse for them.
The hero ignored the bullets slapping him and breathed in air. Short, quick breaths filled every inch of his lungs. His chest swelled and he felt the warm sizzle in the back of his throat.

Excerpt From Ex-Heroes, pg 361
Peter Clines
https://books.apple.com/us/book/ex-heroes/id585738407




“I am fine,” she panted. She took three deep breaths, stilled the gasping, and pulled her hood back into place. “You are bruised.”
He looked at himself. Red and purple spots blossomed across his skin. And most of his pants had crumbled away. “You notice I’m bruised before you notice I’m almost naked?”
“I have seen naked men before. I have never seen you bruised.”
“Yeah, well, it takes a hell of a lot. For the bruising.”

Excerpt From Ex-Heroes, pg 369-370
Peter Clines
https://books.apple.com/us/book/ex-heroes/id585738407