The black knight lurched left and right, swinging wildly at something it couldn't reach, the enemy was inside it, and it had no answer for that.
Raphael let it thrash, waiting patiently for the Wraith Form to cycle back, letting the black knight carry him up and down the corridor in its increasingly frantic search for a solution.
The white knight, scattered across the floor in pieces, was already putting itself back together.
The detached arm plate had propped itself upright on its gauntlet fingers, knuckles walking across the stone like a crab, dragging itself back toward the shoulder socket.
When it arrived, the connection sealed, not with flesh healing over flesh, but with the clean snap of metal drawn to metal, some kind of magnetic reunion.
Raphael watched through the visor. He couldn't do anything about it from in here.
It's reassembling. Completely. And it'll keep doing that no matter how many times I take it apart.
