The ignition head of his formed weapon roared to life, making the air swell and warp around it. The paper began to peel with the stress of the ionizing gas, but that wasn't good enough to sate his appetite for some violence.

"Poking with extreme prejudice."

A high-pitched whine filled the room, followed by a a sharp blast accompanying a flash and and then capping off with a sizzling afterglow. The rune had been thoroughly obliterated by a plasma blast, leaving the metal wall with a decorative scorch mark and a row of burst pickle jars. Tony could smell the vinegar through his filtered helmet.

"Sufficiently poked." He proclaimed, brushing some bits of glass off his arm.