He squeezed the trigger as rapidly as the Sig Sauer’s mechanism
would allow. Two in the chest, three between the eyes. That was the plan.
He got the chest shots in, but the troll interfered before Butler could
complete the formation. The interference took the form of scything tusks
that ducked below Butler’s guard. They coiled around his trunk, slicing
through his Kevlar reinforced jacket like a razor through rice paper.
Butler felt a cold pain as the serrated ivory pierced his chest. He
knew immediately that the wound was fatal. His breath came hard. That
was a lung gone, and gouts of blood were matting the troll’s fur. His blood.
No one could lose that amount and live. Nevertheless, the pain was
instantly replaced by a curious euphoria. Some form of natural anesthetic
injected through channels in the beast’s tusks. More dangerous than the
deadliest poison. In minutes Butler would not only stop struggling, but go
giggling to his grave.
The manservant fought against the narcotics in his system, struggling
furiously in the troll’s grip. But it was no use. His fight was over almost
before it had begun.
The troll grunted, flipping the limp human body over his head.
Butler’s burly frame collided with the wall at a speed human bones were
never meant to withstand. The bricks cracked from floor to ceiling.
Butler’s spine went too. Now, even if the blood loss didn’t get him,
paralysis would.

- Artemis Fowl, Chapter 8