As his dead right arm hit the floor, Taylor spun, hitting his attacker with his loosely swinging left. The Solstice in the orange-tinted gas mask simply laughed and swung the sword again. He ducked this time, the lack of an arm throwing his balance into an unfamiliar place – the loss of an arm had never beens something he’d considered, after all, they were his arms, there was supposed to be no-one brave enough or stupid enough to cut them off.
After all…they were his arms, they were piratically works of art. Body art at least. Perfectly formed combinations of magic, faux-biology and decades of hard work. For that to be reduced to…one swish of a sword and a thud, it was- It would have been saddening and disappointing, had he been able to feel either of those feelings, but since he’d replaced the ability to feel things like that with the ability to punch people harder, he had no idea what those felt like, so treated the loss of the arm for what it was: an opportunity for revenge.

He growled, and smashed his head into the orange gas mask. The glass shattered, embedding itself in his cheeks, but that didn’t matter, it was manly, agenty bleeding. The Solstice stumbled back, then back flipped down the hall, gaining enough distance to allow him to pull a shotgun from his back and aim it.
A lesser man would have frozen to the spot, spread his arms wide and waited for his life to flash before his eyes. Since he was by no means lesser, and technically not a man, he simply growled and ran at the man.
One shotgun blast went off, and hit something that wasn’t him, maybe a recruit, maybe a wall, either way, unimportant. The Solstice pumped the shotgun and fired again, this time it hit him, but it was only a 12-gauge round at close range, not enough to make him…fall to the floor and begin bleeding to death.
The Solstice swung the shotgun down, aimed at his head and laughed, somehow managing to see through the mess of glass shards that had replaced the faceplate of the gas mask. If it had been him, he would have removed it – since they didn’t appear to be releasing gas.
Also, if it had been him, he would have been sane enough to be in only one place, not having translucent copies shimmering either side, similar to the double-vision caused by a dangerous loss of blood, but since that was beneath him, it had to be some sort of Solstice trick – he was probably from one of the sects unafraid of playing with a bit of magic, so long as it was used to their advantage.
Everything began to get a little numb. From the anger. It had to be from the anger. There would be no other that he would losing sensation in his extremities. No other reason his toes would be tingling, or that he would feel like he was covered in blood.
Numbing anger. Not one of the better kinds of anger.
The Solstice wrapped his finger around the trigger, and laughed again.
He growled again, and only vaguely wondered why the man didn’t run in fear.
There was a yell, a flash of a French Twist, and everything went black.

Reminder: This is non-canon, just a bit of fun.