My power … equal to none …
The being forms into the shape of man. Yet vague and unspecific. Ever-changing.
Much like the mists of his prison.
For a prison it is.
Time … It's only a matter of time.
A coalescing of mist swirls around what would pass for the being's hand. It writhes and forms.
Hardening, assuming detail.
Made of metal. Jeweled at the top. Black.