Still. There were nuances. Open hand, moving while she blasted, the power would splash out. More area, less range. She could press her hands together and blast with both to increase concentration and consistency.

Nuances.

She walked out into traffic. Headlights illuminated her. A car passing in the lane beside her made her dress and hair fly around her. Her eyes were wide, to take in as much of the scene as possible.

It was a four-lane road, and as she stopped in her tracks, an eighteen wheeler barreled toward her. It tried to move into another lane, steering away, and brakes squealed in futility.

She put her hand behind her, and she blasted. Open hand, wide area, short blast. The recoil pushed her up and forward at an angle. A slightly different angle and her shoulder would have clipped the truck’s right headlight. She passed within a few inches of it, her other hand whipping around.

Fingers and thumb all together, pointing at the same thing. Concentrated blast. Little breadth, and a foot or two of extra range.

The blast tore into the wheels at the side of the truck, while propelling her away. She caught herself, one foot touching ground, and stumbled back.

The truck tipped, and there was still enough length at the rear of the truck that she faced the risk of it toppling on top of her.

She could have thrown herself back, it was safer to throw herself back, but that meant stumbling.

Raising her hands overhead, thumbs locked together, Damsel blasted skyward. Her legs buckled, straining to keep her upright as the overhead blast tried to push her down.

She let her thumbs come apart, and brought her arms down to either side, painting a rainbow of annihilation and ruin above her. It caught the top rear corner of the truck’s cargo container and it shredded metal exterior and framing. Pieces pelted her, and the truck collapsed onto its side.

Horns blared and people were already stopping. Others stared at her.

Her leg ached like something had sprained in it as she walked away. She did her best to keep her back straight, her attention forward. She would topple the truck and then walk casually away. People would see and they would get it.

A car stopped at the side of the road. The door opened, and a cape climbed out. What little of his face that was visible behind the mask was painted with mottled black smears. His outfit was layers of urban camouflage, and the armor at his chest had something resembling a fist marked out in the camouflage. Visible only with a squint.

There were others getting out of the same car, and out of the truck.

Soldat.

He had a hollow metal tube in one hand. He turned it around, pointing it at her—

She used her power, hurling herself forward, and stumbled as her feet touched ground again, now running instead of walking.