Rodolphus turned into blow, and razor sharp stone split open his side, down to the rib, so that hot blood spattered across his torn shirt, across Sturgis as he passed by, and onto the carpeted floor. Agony was not quite the correct word for it, for the wound was too clean and too fast for the pain to fester, but sharp ribbons of pain spilled into his stomach and down to his thighs. Damnit. That had been stupid. This fight should have been over with quickly so that he could find Corbina and now -- damn. A rough healing spell and the wound half knitted into something atrocious looking (what did he care about scars, he was covered with them already), and Rodolphus winced through to slam his hand into Sturgis's back, propelling himself forward and turning his wand upon the other man's back (fair play was for people who didn't want to win).