The Inquisitor moved table to table. He didn't ask for papers. He held out a silver rod—a tuning fork that hummed with a low, nauseating frequency.
He stopped at the miners' table. The rod stayed silent. He moved on.
"Null-steel," Elric whispered, his hand shaking on his tankard. "It detects resonance. Magic.
Corruption."
"It detects me," Kael said.
He could feel the Obsidian arm beneath the bandages. It was reacting to the rod's hum, twitching like a sleeping dog that heard an intruder.
The Inquisitor turned. His silver mask was a perfect mirror, reflecting the fear in the room.
He walked toward their corner.
The rod began to sing. A high, sharp pitch that made the glass windows rattle.
"You," the Inquisitor said, pointing the rod at Kael. "Stand."
Kael didn't move. "I'm just a traveler, my lord. Eating my bread."
"Stand!" The Inquisitor slammed the rod onto the table. It cracked the wood. "The Null-steel screams, beggar. You are carrying contraband. Void-artifacts?"
The other two Inquisitors drew weapons. Not swords. Maces made of the same dull grey metal.
Batteries of dampening field.
Kael sighed. He finished his stale bread.
"I don't have artifacts," Kael said.
"Search him," the leader ordered.
One of the subordinates stepped forward, reaching for Kael's hood.
Kael moved.
He didn't use the Obsidian arm. He grabbed the Inquisitor's wrist with his right hand—his human hand—and twisted. Bone snapped. The Inquisitor grunted, dropping his mace. Kael kicked the man in the kneecap, sending him crashing into a neighboring table.
"Heretic!" the leader screamed. "Pacify him! Lethal force authorized!"
The leader swung his rod.
Kael drew his iron sword. The clang of steel on Null-steel rang out like a bell.
Kael was fast, but the rod was heavy. Every time it hit his sword, Kael felt his strength sap away. The Null-steel didn't just block; it drained kinetic energy.
"You have training," the Leader sneered, parrying a thrust. "A deserter knight? One of the Broken?"
"Something like that," Kael grunted, ducking under a swing that would have crushed his skull.
The third Inquisitor bypassed Kael. He lunged for Elric.
Elric scrambled back, tripping over his chair. The Inquisitor raised his mace.
"No!" Kael shouted.
He let go of his iron sword. He stepped in, putting himself between the weapon and the scholar.
He raised his left arm.
The mace slammed into the bandages.
It should have broken the bone. Instead, the bandages burned away.
The Obsidian arm caught the Null-mace.
The Inquisitor froze. The Null-steel, designed to suppress magic, was vibrating violently. It couldn't suppress this. This wasn't magic. It was hunger.
*Break him,* the Arm whispered.
Kael clenched his fist.
The Null-mace shattered. Not snapped—*shattered*. It exploded into metal dust.
Kael backhanded the Inquisitor. The blow threw the man across the room, through the tavern window, and out into the street.
Silence fell.
The bandages were gone. Kael's arm—black, glossy, veined with magma-red light—was exposed.
The Leader stepped back, his silver mask reflecting the nightmare limb.
"Void-touched," the Inquisitor whispered. "Abomination."
Kael looked at the arm. Smoke was rising from his knuckles.
"Yeah," Kael said, turning to the leader. "That's what they call it."