The plug doesn't come out of his neck easily, but it does come out of she's willing to be rough with it - which seems to basically be what Ignatius is asking for, so alright. Then, it's a matter of the sword.

Ignatius chokes on a scream as Syrlya cuts off the rest of his arm, the Vorpal Blade sharp enough to slice through his arm and lodge itself into the bed beneath. He makes pained sounds through his teeth, breathing heavily, but when he looks at Syrlya he is not dissuade.

"Keep going," he insists, and tries to focus on healing and reforming that arm. The molten, ashy sludge that Herbert is familiar with bubbles from the open wound.