As she flew, she examined the pain she was feeling, then dampened it and healed herself. Healed her back and her fingernails too, all the little cuts and scratches and bruises.
[…]
His left hand grabbed her wrist, squeezed it so tightly her bones broke. She healed them instantly. He reached to her with his right hand, his armoured glove finding her face, his thumb seeking her eye. She turned her head but he had a good grip. If he burst her eyeball, how quickly would she be able to repair it?
She didn’t know, so she let him do it, and as an experiment she allowed the pain in. His thumb burst her eye and she shrieked. Her body convulsed and she twisted in mid-air. Vile’s momentum carried him onwards, but Darquesse didn’t care about him – all she cared about was the extraordinary pain she was experiencing. Her hands were covering her face, feeling the blood and the jelly leak down her cheek. She realised she was still screaming, screaming and roaring and crying, turning in circles in the air. When the pain was too much, she shut it off, and calmly pressed the remains of her eye back into its socket. An interesting experiment.
She opened her good eye, saw Vile coming for her. His shoulder slammed into her belly, his arm encircled her, and they hurtled downwards. She blinked. The vision in her bad eye turned from nothing to blurry to perfect. Better than her right eye, in fact. To compensate, she sharpened that eye as well, and then returned her attention to her current predicament.