The smell hit Kain first.
A sharp, acrid stench that clung to the back of his throat, souring the air like burnt rubber mixed with rotting eggs. He recoiled slightly, eyes narrowing as a soft sizzle continuously rang out from the far side of the room.
Malzahir groaned again, louder this time, and Kain took an instinctive step forward—only to pause mid-stride.
The chair was gone.
Well, not gone—but more like dissolved. The leather had melted into a bubbling black puddle that spread out in a circle beneath Malzahir's now lying form. Steam rose from where it met the floor.
"…What the hell?"
Kain took a cautious step forward, watching as the faintly glowing lines embedded in the alloy floor warped and twisted around Malzahir's body.
The alloy, something he'd specifically installed at a premium, was supposed to withstand the equivalent of a blow from a low-grade spiritual creature. It was a composite blend—durable, spiritually conductive, and aesthetically understated.
