That amount of pain is enough for Wriothesley to lose focus for a second, his stance weakening as he hisses through his teeth, pupils dilating wide. "That's it, Mezzo..." The ragged edge to his voice could be pain - but there might be something else there too.

The torn off arm definitely has blood and bone in it, but he doesn't bleed much - and as he stumbles back another step, a shining blue and purple growth of water almost like a tentacle flows out from the stump of his shoulder, taking only a moment to form hand and fingers and solidify into flesh - though now bare of both sleeve and gauntlet.