She didn't have time to think past that recognition, before the trigger pulled, and everything else became instinct.
Heat came first: not warmth but searing force that punched through the room like an open furnace door swinging wide. The blast wasn't aimed—it was thrown, like someone had cut loose a lightning bolt and hurled it from hell's backyard straight to where Morrigan stood.
One second she was rushing forward; the next, something hit her harder than anything ever had—not fists, not bullets—and it wasn't even close to fair.
The railgun round tore sideways into her before she had time to process it properly. It chewed through the thickness of the wall behind her just as easily as it cut through flesh and bone.
