Velis on the iron plate with no arms.
The image was wrong in a way the crowd felt before they understood—the armless torso and both legs standing twelve feet from Brack on his own claimed ground, nothing about the configuration that looked like a threat, everything about it that looked like a concession.
Brack moved toward him.
He moved with the measured pace he always moved with, iron coating his forearms and the backs of his hands, the liquid on his skin present and ready. He covered half the distance in three steps and reached for Velis's shoulder—iron liquid ready to transfer, to harden around the torso and lock the remaining sections in place.
Both of Velis's legs detached at the hip.
