Handy was utterly destroyed by the blow. He was flung to the floor and sent skidding across the cold stone, body flailing with the force of the strike. His cuirass in ruination with deep rents across it and rings of silvered mail flying in the air behind him. Handy hit the wooden border of the fighting area to the gasps of various griffons. Handy was stunned, his mind trying to process what had just happened. He raised his head, Shortbeak was standing several feet away from him, and he struggled to get up. His hand was still clasped about the haft of his hammer in a deathgrip, his shield was gone. He hit the hammer’s head to the ground and used it to get up. It looked like Shortbeak was going to let him. A pain hit him in the torso, he reached his hand down and pulled it away. Blood.