A thunderous beam of solar radiance erupted from her fingertip. A column of pure, molten sunlight crashed into the corridor as if it were the fist of Ra himself. The Handmaidens' bodies contorted as their resistances flared… And shattered.
Sparks flew. Screams echoed.
Their porcelain masks shattered.
Their crimson gowns caught fire.
Each cursed woman flailed with excruciating pain as they began melting away in place. This display made them seem as if they were wax figures beneath a god's magnifying glass. The magic didn't merely burn: it ate away at the specific type of regeneration undead monstrosities used, devouring their essence before they could siphon from the mirrors.
Diaz narrowed his eyes while scanning the glow. "Anti-undead-healing. That's a rare property for a spell to have… Not many classes specialize in countering them…" he muttered. "Her magic's eating their life faster than they can recover."
