He was too slow. Had Banru been a being of flesh and blood, a jagged Oof! would have hissed past his lips, but no such sound came. Instead his face merely twisted with pain immediately, the holy magic in her sword ripping through his souls and the chaotic energy holding them together like shrapnel through tissue paper.
There was no blood. Nothing slipped out of the hole in his abdomen. If Sandalphon had cared to pull her sword out and get a good look at his wound, she would see nothing but swirling inky blackness. But the pain, Gods old and new, the pain! It was like nothing he'd felt before.
Banru almost didn't hear her words through his agony as his free arm attempted to grab at the sword--only to jerk away as though it were electrically charged, the magic in the thing so contrary to his nature that it was painful to even attempt to touch.
Then she twisted the sword in his gut. And for the first time in longer than the immortal could remember, he cried out in pain.
Even so, he held on to one last shred of his pride, even though he felt as though he were dying. Any mortal would have passed out by now, but Banru was incapable of passing out from pain alone. He attempted to speak, and when he did, his voice was shaky and torn.
"I plead the f-fifth, your hon-nor." He whispered.