"Mortis Grasp," she whispered.
An invisible force struck Bodock from the side, aiming for his heart. It was dark, arcane, forbidden by every magical authority in the known world, and punishable by immediate execution. The kind of magic that would destroy from the inside.
But Bodock was not a Wizard Lord by accident. He twisted at the last instant, his own defensive magic flaring to life. The death magic struck his hastily erected shield and shattered it, but the shield had absorbed enough of the force that the attack merely grazed his shoulder instead of punching through his chest.
He grunted in pain as necrotic energy seared through his robes and into his flesh. The sensation was like being touched by absolute cold, by the void itself. Part of his shoulder simply ceased to exist, leaving behind a wound that didn't bleed because there were no longer blood vessels there to bleed from.
