The moment the golden beams struck Black Mask's armpit, his flesh began to unravel.
Cell by cell. Atom by atom.
The unseen threads that bound his existence together — the frequencies that sustained his corrupted form — were being severed, counteracted by a perfect resonance. It was as though reality itself had found his flaw and was erasing him from its design.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
A scream of pure, unfiltered agony tore from his distorted throat. His left shoulder and everything around it disintegrated instantly, vanishing into golden dust. Yet even in that pain, his tentacles lashed out wildly, and one struck true.
The impact hurled the Crimson Exarch across the chamber. He slammed into the crystal wall with bone-rattling force, cracks spiderwebbing across the surface. For a moment, even his radiant aura flickered. But before the dust settled, he was already standing again — blood at the corner of his mouth, eyes blazing with gold.
