Broken arm

Ramirez, his arms freed, whipped toward the creature mindlessly feeding upon his wounded arm, snarled a word, flicked his other wrist, and suddenly her head just turned into a slurry of water and powder. The remainder of the body started thrashing around silently, spewing ichor everywhere. Carlos gasped as bones in his forearm snapped in the grip of superhumanly powerful hands.
The other twin seized a tombstone, ripped it out of the ground as if it had been a damned dandelion, and flung it at my head.
There was just time to get my shield up, and the tombstone exploded into gravel against it.
By the time I lowered my hand and looked around again, shield bracelet still dribbling green-gold sparks, the twin was gone. So were the bodies of Yoshimo and Wild Bill.
I stumbled over to Ramirez’s side. We wrestled the stupidly powerful strength still left in the dead vampire’s hands, until I finally had to pit what felt like the strength of my whole body against the vampire’s fingers, one at a time. It wasn’t easy on Ramirez, who must have been suffering agonies, but we got it done.
I pulled him back as he cradled his shattered arm, and we watched the corpse thrash itself across the ground.

Battle Ground Chapter 13, Page 128-129


“Carlos, shield me,” I said. “I’m not going to have anything to spare.”
Without a word, Ramirez lifted his left hand and the air in front of me quivered with a pale greenish disk of light that rippled like water. It wasn’t more than a second before enemy fire struck it on one side, evidently with shot from the octokong weapons. The ball hit Ramirez’s shield and in the act of passing through, it was ripped into a fine spray of metallic grit.
The Jotnar closed to two hundred yards.

Battle Ground Chapter 15, Page 143


The Blackstaff strode into the vacuum, Ebenezar McCoy in the fullness of his power, the left side of his body buried in a shadow so deep that it had to be taken on faith that he still had that half of his body at all.
Beside him strode Ramirez and Cristos. Cristos was doing something to the ground that solidified it into hard clay about a foot in front of Ebenezar’s toes, and the old man strode forward with dust coating him and a bleeding wound on the side of his mostly bald pate, his jaw set at a pugnacious angle.
A Fomor officer, probably one of their lesser nobles, had been pressured toward the old man by the inexorable power of the Archive and had the choice of the lawn mower or the tiger. He chose tiger, howled, and flung himself and his personal retinue at Ebenezar.
I had never seen Ramirez cut loose before.
Maybe a dozen froggy Fomor warriors came at them. He gathered his good hand in across his body, like a farmer drawing seed from a seed bag, and unleashed it with a ringing word and a flash of dark, dangerous eyes. A wave of translucent pale blue energy washed across them and...

Battle Ground Chapter 32, Page 307