The hammered nail of lightning is but a precursor; mark of more meant to maim the maiden whose melted flesh sizzles in the rain to the stench of burnt hair. Trees then topple with splintering snaps and their rustling branches entwine together to weave a crushing trap should nothing intervene. However even the perpetual percussion of the storm can't veil the overwhelming cry of cracking wood during downfall. It's those sounds which warn Hisame of impending intrusion and rouse renewal of their aegis.

The falling timber collides with a thud but a slight lean suggests they've hit something above ground; following is the fervent flicker of freshly flung bolts which clap against the barrier futilely. From there Hisame's skin ripples in restoration and charred tresses become silken once more. Although without lasting damage she remains confined to position; a caged lioness of snarling teeth growling in displeasure.

Happily striking is the maddened maiden whom prays persistence will prove profitable and what may be mistaken for a moan of agony escapes the thicket of branches. Its volume is low at first but immediately increases to rival the boom of thunder rumbling in tandem. Like speakers turned to the max it makes the earth to shiver and flesh to [i]feel[/i] the sound emanating from Hisame's throat.

Suddenly the pitch reverses into an awful screech so piercingly loud that any eardrums nearby burst and bleed; mind-numbing pain attacks the brain and prevents any focus to form. Only the solitaire shrill seems to exist for the forty seconds Hisame takes to formulate her riposte. The nearly eternal minute of misery ends with a release of telekinetic force in all directions. Like a nuclear shockwave it blasts everything to bits as wet ground peels and trees blow apart to send splinters spinning; five hundred feet of land is leveled in a blink. 

In the aftermath she stands with quickened breath and a mask of weariness upon her face. She exhales foggy puffs from her open mouth until a deep inhale catches breath. From there she may behold the destruction of the rain-soaked woods whose trees are strewn in muddy chunks of trunks, branches and leaves. If that pesky woman had survived and remained conscious they'd see a level playground had been formed. Now only their laughable lightning fantasizes of felling this durable dame.