"...Big sis, I have a question," I murmur to Azraelith, who's lying on her bed while I sit cross-legged on her stomach, my hands held close together.
Between my palms floats a soft sphere of light, literally a cluster of photons I created by absorbing most of the ambient light into one spot.
"What?"
"The adaptation gives us resistance, and I think you must have it too, but every time I take a hit, that same type of attack becomes weaker. So if someone hits me with fire magic, any normal fire magic of the same type gets weaker." That's one of the reasons I survived certain blows.
"Yeah, that's natural. The more we adapt to an attack, the weaker it gets. Unfortunately, it still causes some damage, but the reduction is pretty useful," she murmurs.
"But attacks of the same category but different types bypass that resistance." I noticed this mostly with Mikael—his white flames burned more than any fire magic I'd been hit with before.
