"You look terrible," Kael said.
Malakor laughed. It sounded like wet gravel. Smoke curled from the vents in his fused armor.
"I have been refined," Malakor said. "The fire stripped away the weakness. The flesh."
He tapped his staff on the metal floor. Shadows began to bleed from the walls. Not natural shadows. Void-shadows. They had teeth.
"You use the Void," Elric accused, backing away. "You call us Heretics, but you wield the same power!"
"I wield it," Malakor hissed. "I do not let it wield me. That is the difference. I am the master. He..."
Malakor pointed a charred finger at Kael. "He is a vessel."
"I survived because I had hope," Kael said. "You survived because you ate your own men."
"Resources," Malakor corrected. "The strong consume the weak. That is the only law of the universe.
The Spire knows this. The King knows this. Only you, with your childish morality, refuse to accept it."
The shadows formed into wolves. Dozens of them. They circled Kael and Elric.
"I will not let you turn off the lights," Malakor said. "I will not let you wake the monsters in the dark."
"You are the monster," Kael said.
He drew his iron sword. But then he sheathed it.
"No," Kael said. "Steel won't work on you. Not anymore."
He unwrapped the bandages from his left arm. The Obsidian limb began to hum. It recognized the corruption in Malakor. It didn't feel fear.
It felt appetite.
"You want to talk about consumption?" Kael asked. The red veins on his arm flared brighter than the Spire's lights.
"Let's see who is hungrier."