Impolite

Desmond's gaze shifted back to Diana, his eyes widening as he observed Annie delicately pressing a single finger against Diana's forehead, her lips moving in a whispered chant. A surge of reddish light erupted from Annie's fingertip, capturing Desmond's attention. He marveled at her control, witnessing the light seep into Diana's skull without so much as a drop of blood or a trace of a wound.

"What the fuck..." Desmond muttered, his surprise palpable. Internally, he couldn't help but think, That was astounding! This technique is befitting of a revered family legacy.

As Annie's index finger penetrated Diana's head, a pained groan escaped Diana's lips. Desmond empathized, knowing all too well the sensation of agony. He fervently hoped that Annie's technique wouldn't claim Diana's life immediately, as such an outcome would undoubtedly invite a torrent of complications.