Malakor's pale, angular face contorted into a mask of unfiltered, desperate rage as he realized his ultimate spatial collapse had been completely neutralized by a mortal, and he immediately raised his spinal staff to command the remaining eleven Archons to shift their tactics.
"Tear his physical form apart at the molecular level!" the High Archon shrieked, shedding the last vestiges of his false composure as dark matter began to pool around the base of his boots like spilled black ink.
The eleven Void-Archons moved in perfect unison, raising their pale hands to summon localized gravity wells that distorted the light around the frozen courtyard and threatened to crush Kai into a microscopic singularity.
The ambient pressure in the ruined plaza spiked to a suffocating degree, forcing the Southern infantry lines to brace their heavy iron shields against the super-cooled floor just to remain standing.
