Misa doesn't feel the attack as it scorches her legs; all she is aware of is a sudden pressure as the ground rips up behind her and suddenly she is being thrown down by a magical force. It knocks the wind out of her, and at first all that registers is the pain shooting through her palms where she tried to catch herself. Gravel embedded in the skin, maybe a sprain. Mild wounds.

Lazarus is quicker to recover than she is, attempting to scramble up before she has completely registered what has happened. Self-preservation finally kicks in and she grabs his hand back, attempting to pull them both up. If Lazarus is too hurt to run she'll just have to—

Her legs don't respond, sending her toppling back to the ground the moment that she attempts to put any pressure on them. Misa glances back sharply, and her eyes go wide at the blackened wounds burned deep into bare calves.

A sense of body dysmorphia fills her as her vision goes fuzzy around the edges. That's... her? This must be happening to someone else, she feels no connection to the grisly sight before her even as she can see that those legs are indeed connected to her body.

Misa doesn't respond to Lazarus, she screams.