Blocks lightning

A needle of fire so bright that it hurt my eyes lashed into Ethniu’s body at the waist, where she had to twist and bend, and where the armor just couldn’t have been as thick. It drew a hiss of discomfort and annoyance from her, and she whirled the spear and smashed back at my grandfather with more lightning. The old man got a shield up in time, but Cristos had been a half heartbeat slow. He was flung to one side, burning, body going limp and rag doll in the violence of the explosion.
Then, as my grandfather recovered, Ethniu bounded forward, superhumanly agile even mostly on one leg, and struck him with the butt end of the spear.
My grandfather was a quarterstaff fighter with lifetimes of experience. And he was in damned fine condition for a man who had seen birthdays in four different centuries. But he was about five six and mortal. She was a nine-foot protogoddess. He pulled two deflection parries he should never have survived, much less made cleanly, and then she kicked him with her wounded leg.
She didn’t break his ribs. Her virtually invincible shin hit him with a low roundhouse in the hips, the side of the pelvis.

Battle Ground Chapter 32, Page 314