((I'll assume that you fired at the right one, since they are identical in appearance. Lol.))
"No!" Siarl shouted out, reaching out with one hand as if to try and stop the metal. It was a wholly illogical reaction, nothing to do with the way that Garet looked (he was to used to that by now) but instead based on a want, a need, of revenge. One that he had harboured for many years now, too many for him to admit to, and that he wasn't going to lose to some fighter here.
Garet laughed again, turning and letting the metal slice into his side but revelling in the pain instead of hating it. Pain had always given him the power, made him feel alive. He reached down with his right hand and wrenched it out again, then threw it aside as the wound healed up alright. "Standing up for me now, Siarl? Well, this is a turn up for the books. And as for you," he looked across at Deutar, "you can stay the ******** out of this, alright?"
"Too right," Siarl agreed for once, still shaken by the echoing emptiness in his mind as he looked across. His eyes seemed different, showing the person rather than the people behind them. To look in them now wouldn't have that same old effect of looking in a mirror - instead you were looking at someone. Someone angry. "The b*****d's mine."