Roxie's free hand, with the ring, clenches shut tightly enough that the tendons in her arms stand out. The shot hits—

—against an invisible wall, the initial part of the flare spreading—

—and Roxie's eyes go wide—

—and her shield shatters soundlessly, the backlash suddenly pounding ragged patterns of narrow cuts into her, like being slammed into glass—

—as the rest of the explosion pours through—