There's no pain at least from the blast. Nothing that wasn't already injured when she was yanked between dimensions to Blaze's side by her summons. Her hair's singed badly on one side and she's trying to put out the fire clinging to her robes. The shockwave has left her reeling as much as it has Blaze--her sense of balance is shot. She staggers on her feet when her singed wings can't hold her steady in the air.

All Nike can smell is burning. Hair, fabrics, chemicals. The twisted remnants of the Sparrow with its half melted metal chassis, definitely melted wires, and fluids that have boiled away into caustic gases still steaming off of the wreck. All she can hear is the ringing in her ears.

Her shaking legs give out and the angel slumps to her knees in the mud while her hands grope to put out the fires on her clothing, smother them beneath her gloves and the cool wet terra beneath herself. She can't hear Blaze calling.