"That's not possible," Milo said quietly. "The damage is still there. They're not healing."
He was right, they weren't healing. The wounds were open, the frost was still eating into flesh, the injuries were real and visible and absolutely should have kept them on the ground. But they were standing anyway.
I put the big man down again. Harder this time. Frostfang took his good arm off at the elbow in a clean cut, and white fire sealed the stump before it could bleed. He hit the ground, rolled once, and started getting up with no arms.
With. No. Arms.
'What the hell is this?'
He was trying to stand using only his legs, his body lurching upward in jerking motions, the stumps of his arms swinging uselessly at his sides. The covered face turned toward me, and even though I couldn't see his eyes, I could feel something behind the cloth that wasn't human anymore. Wasn't even trying to be.
