[ He feels something give way beneath the heft of his mace, accompanied by the nauseating sound of flesh warping and bone splintering. It's a strange thrill that races through his chest, a visceral satisfaction accompanied by a reflexive twinge of nausea, and Gen hisses as he moves to raise the mace once more --
only for it to catch against Dokja's hand.
It's only a split second that Gen hesitates. Only a moment where he's caught off-guard by the fact that Dokja can still move that hand despite the obvious damage it's taken. The timespan of a single breath where he's frozen in indecision, needing to course correct. And that tiny sliver of time is all it takes for things to go terribly wrong.
The gleam of the sword's blade is followed by a strange impact that catches at his left arm, jerking him to the side. Vaguely, Gen's aware of the sound of fabric tearing, steel rending through something, then the sound of a heavy object falling into the nearby foliage. And there's no pain, but ...
As Gen reflexively catches himself from that backwards stagger, lunging forth to stomp the heel of his boot right against Dokja's sternum, he wonders why the water in the fountain around them is beginning to dye red. Wonders why his balance feels so off when he gives a vicious swing of the mace, its head catching against Dokja's sword to try and disarm him; he almost unbalances himself as he straightens up, swaying for a moment on his feet. Wonders why there's a strange chill starting to settle ever so light over his shoulders as he takes his next ragged breath, an uneasy feeling building in the pit of his stomach -- the sense that something is wrong. And it's only then, as he sees another gout of blood patter into the fountain's surface and send ripples across its moonlit surface, he realizes where that blood is coming from him.
From where his arm's been severed halfway down from the shoulder. ]
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only for it to catch against Dokja's hand.
It's only a split second that Gen hesitates. Only a moment where he's caught off-guard by the fact that Dokja can still move that hand despite the obvious damage it's taken. The timespan of a single breath where he's frozen in indecision, needing to course correct. And that tiny sliver of time is all it takes for things to go terribly wrong.
The gleam of the sword's blade is followed by a strange impact that catches at his left arm, jerking him to the side. Vaguely, Gen's aware of the sound of fabric tearing, steel rending through something, then the sound of a heavy object falling into the nearby foliage. And there's no pain, but ...
As Gen reflexively catches himself from that backwards stagger, lunging forth to stomp the heel of his boot right against Dokja's sternum, he wonders why the water in the fountain around them is beginning to dye red. Wonders why his balance feels so off when he gives a vicious swing of the mace, its head catching against Dokja's sword to try and disarm him; he almost unbalances himself as he straightens up, swaying for a moment on his feet. Wonders why there's a strange chill starting to settle ever so light over his shoulders as he takes his next ragged breath, an uneasy feeling building in the pit of his stomach -- the sense that something is wrong. And it's only then, as he sees another gout of blood patter into the fountain's surface and send ripples across its moonlit surface, he realizes where that blood is coming from him.
From where his arm's been severed halfway down from the shoulder. ]