Cyborg

Destin picked up the katana that had fallen to the ground when the stranger had slammed him into the wall some time prior. They had done some running around since then, and the room was thoroughly trashed, by the glint of the long steel blade was still easy to see beneath the dust and broken furniture. He nicked himself on the blade as he swiped wildly for it, but he was in so much pain already that it hardly bothered him. If he was going to stand any semblance of a chance, he was going to need a weapon - even if he had no idea how to properly use it.

The stranger was stalking towards him when Destin turned around, hand wrapped tightly around the bloodying handle, the tip of the handle visibly swaying from side to side as Destin's muscles shook and screamed. He knew that he would never be able to move quickly or precisely enough to make a clean cut on this bizarre man who looked upon him with a dark and evil grin, unfazed by the blade pointed in the direction of his chest. But Destin also knew that he didn't need to make a clean cut. He just had to make contact. If nothing else, it would surely slow the bastard down, and that was all Destin really needed.

The stranger lurched forward unexpectedly, and Destin didn't have time to react. He swung the sword up to prepare it, but by the time he was ready to slice it back down, the man was already on him. Destin suspected the man was wearing brass knuckles under his gloves, because the punch the hit Destin's shoulder was unbelievably hard, and it felt as though his shoulder bone was being crushed beneath it, shattering in a single blow. He cried out in agony and dropped his katana, raised high in the air, and it pierced straight through the center of the man's own shoulder.

The man backed off and looked blankly at his shoulder, as if taking a moment to drink in what had just happened, while Destin slumped to the ground, clutching his shattered bone and screaming internally at the pain. His own voice was long gone. He could hardly breath.

But the man didn't seem affected. He grabbed the handle of the katana and ripped it not up and out from whence it came, but forward, cutting off his own arm in the process. But he did not cry out in pain. No blood pooled as his arm dropped uselessly to the ground. Instead, the stump it left behind was a mess of severed wires, bolts, and cogs.

Destin watched as he leaned down and picked up his own arm, examining it for a moment like a foreign object which he had never seen before. Then he turned to look at Destin, and he smiled. "Good thing I'm not human," he muttered under his breath, then knocked Destin out cold, slapping him across the face with the back of his cold, steel, severed arm.