Charlatans

How can you hurt the Dark? When you are wounded the Shadows will reinforce you the same way they empower you. Darkness creeps in from behind wherever you are being perceived.

At one time, Amaryllis's arms were normal, unscarred, and white as a dove. She would wrestle with her brothers, surrounded by soft and fluffy couches, plug protected outlets, and edge protected tables. They were safe, mostly, until one gave another a shallow scratch with their fingernail. From even a single scrape, the children would ruin rugs and throw pillows as the Fleischer Family Curse took its toll, forcing them to make a sizable plasma donation to the house. They all knew the risks, of course, they had the band-aids and medical bandages on hand to stop the bleeding. They continued their roughhousing beyond earshot of their parents...

Amaryllis's mother, Dahlia, knew the truth of their family's curse. She understood that time was running short as Sorin had already passed away years before. She and her husband studied the occult, making a fortune by reading futures, holding seances, and investigating hauntings. The greatest ritual they ever developed was one to break their curse. She knew Amaryllis, the first-born, would need to be saved first, as soon as possible, before she followed Death to meet her husband.

Something was not right, Amaryllis had passed out early in the bloodletting phase of the ritual. She struggled against her bindings and exasperated the new cuts on her wrists. The long gashes and otherworldly lettering on her arms wept until they went blue. Dahlia completed the runes and smeared a circle in blood around her daughter before realizing that the ritual was faulty. She then realized that her baby girl was on Death's door. She rushed Amaryllis to the hospital in heavy bandages, but her body would refuse to close her wounds. Dahlia would die a year later, consumed by the knowledge that the ritual failed.

She was wrong.

Through years of rigorous blacksmith work Henry has learned how to suck it up and keep moving. Injuries no longer slowing him down, as steel replaces flesh in order to keep moving, it grows with the wounds, but has potential for total take over if Henry should meet that fateful encounter.

Remus lay unresponsive on the floor; enshrouded in a cloud of psychoactive gas, his trusty oversized cross laying besides him as always. In spite of his condition, some semblance of a sentence managed to slur its way out of his unconscious lips.

"...Goddamnit, gotta get back to the fuggin' job-"

Still fully unconscious, one hand reached over in a slow and practised movement that had by now reached some sort of muscle memory: hefting up the large cross and slapping himself harshly across the side of the face with the enormous thing.
Bringing him back to the land of the living.

Much like the name suggests, a rush of adrenaline courses through Kaji's body - allowing him to ignore his injuries and other penalities for the duration of combat, and fight at his fullest potential.
You could also maybe call it him just 'going into the zone', more or less.

The mobster's been through tougher scrapes than this. A few cuts and bruises won't stop them.