Arc Royale [Ch. 30]

Crocea Mors came up, his knee bunched and one foot sliding back in preparation of the sudden weight he would take as the body came crashing down onto the sword's tip. He was prepared for a Nevermore to catch Grimm and take him aside, or for Beowolves to swarm him and wrench his sword away at the last.

What he did not expect was for his hardened and tempered steel to punch through the bone-plated chest, through aura that shattered in a sparkle of red light, and through flesh, muscle and organs in one go.

Grimm – the iteration version of himself that was the son of Salem – slid down his sword to Knight's hands, blood – red, he noticed, just like his own – pouring down over his gauntlets and vambraces.

[...]

The tentacles that the man used speared out and around Knight, threatening to stab into his back. He trusted his armour and his Constitution Stat to protect him. Sure enough, when the prehensile limbs punched against his plate, they failed to penetrate through. When he heard the click of buckles, however, he understood their true plan. His free hand slapped against his breastplate, Stoke the Forge superheating the metal in a matter of seconds. Flesh burned, not his but the tentacles, and yet they kept working, quickly stripping and peeling off his armour while Grimm's hands clutched at the sword through his chest to hold it in place.

[...]

Grimm even tried to grip onto Knight's boot, but his hands were bloody and in shreds from being driven down his sword edge so hard that he couldn't hold on.

—Arc Royale [Ch. 30]