Handy roared in frustration at the changeling and raised his hammer again, the weapon crackling. He held it there for a moment and looked around. The halls were quiet, the only sound the distant crackling of still burning flames. A gust blew through from the open windows above, and eddies of dust and ash stirred about them. The Archon lay before him, spent, bloodied, and broken. His chest rose and fell weakly, his eyes fluttering, and his legs occasionally spasmed as the remnants of the lightning wracked his body.