Malakor screamed as he unleashed the storm.
Bolts of black lightning arced from his staff, tearing up the floorplates. Elric dove behind a console as the room became a maelstrom of energy.
Kael walked through it.
The lightning hit him and vanished. His Obsidian arm acted as a lightning rod, drinking the power.
It hurt—like ice in his veins—but he kept walking.
"Die!" Malakor shrieked. "Why won't you die?"
"Because you're feeding me," Kael said.
He reached the Inquisitor. Malakor swung his staff, a blow that would have shattered a tank. Kael caught it.
Crunch.
He crushed the void-iron shaft.
Malakor stumbled back, his power source broken. The shadow-wolves dissolved into mist.
"It's over," Kael said.
He grabbed Malakor by the throat. The Inquisitor clawed at Kael's arm, his charred skin flaking away.
"You... you doom us," Malakor wheezed. "The Heart... the Heart is..."
"Quiet," Kael said.
He didn't squeeze. He pulled.
He pulled the Void out of the man.
It rushed into Kael's arm—a river of sludge and hate. Kael grit his teeth, forcing his mind to stay coherent as he absorbed the toxicity.
Malakor gasped. His eyes—the red embers—faded. For a second, he looked human again. Just a scared old man in a mask.
"It... is... cold," Malakor whispered.
Then he crumbled.
There was no body. Just a pile of ash and a silver mask falling to the floor with a hollow clang.
Kael fell to one knee, panting. steam rose from his skin.
"Kael!" Elric ran to him. "Are you okay?"
"No," Kael said, standing up. He felt heavy. Saturated. "But we're done here."
He looked at the elevator.
"One more level."