The troll was concussed, blinded by blood, and lame. A normal
person would feel a shard of remorse, but not Butler. He’d seen too many
men gored by injured animals.
Now was the dangerous time. It was no time for mercy, it was time to
terminate with extreme prejudice.
Holly could only watch helplessly as the human took careful aim and
delivered a series of crippling blows to the stricken creature. First he took
out the tendons, bringing the troll to its knees, then he abandoned the mace
and went to work with gauntleted hands, perhaps deadlier than the mace
had been. The unfortunate troll fought back pathetically, even managing to
land a few glancing blows. But they failed to penetrate the antique armor.
Meanwhile Butler toiled like a surgeon. Working on the assumption that
the troll and human physiques were basically the same, he rained blow
after blow on the dumb creature, reducing it to a heap of quivering fur in
so many seconds. It was pitiful to watch. And the manservant wasn’t
finished yet. He stripped off the bloodied gauntlets, loading a fresh clip
into the handgun.
“Let’s see how much bone you have under your chin.”
“No,” gasped Holly, with the first breath in her body. “Don’t.”
Butler ignored her, jamming the barrel beneath the troll’s jaw.
“Don’t do it. . . . You owe me.”
Butler paused. Juliet was alive, it was true. Confused certainly, but
alive. He thumbed the hammer on his pistol. Every brain cell in his head
screamed for him to pull the trigger. But Juliet was alive.
“You owe me, human.” Butler sighed. He’d regret this later. “Very
well, Captain. The beast lives to fight another day. Lucky for him, I’m in a
good mood.”

- Artemis Fowl, Chapter 8