He spun on Forch, desperate, just in time to see the man slide a metal bar off a table and toss it.

Waxillium tried to duck. Too slow. The Steelpushed bar slammed against his chest, throwing him backward. Forch grunted, stumbling. He wasn’t practiced with his Allomancy, and hadn’t properly braced himself. His Push threw him backward as much as it tossed Waxillium.
 Still, Waxillium hit the wall with a grunt, and he felt something crack inside of him. He gasped, his vision blackening as he dropped to his knees. The room wavered.
 The pouch. Get the pouch!
 He searched the floor around him, frantic, barely able to think. He needed that metal! His fingers, bloodied, brushed it. Eager, he snatched the pouch and pulled open the cloth top. He tipped back his head to dump the flakes in.