I'm actually hinting at less defense, not more. His armor's default state is an amorphous, tarry liquid with next to none electrical resistance, so unless it is hardened with an impact or Quebra makes a conscious effort to permanently transform it into crystal, it won't protect him from shocks; the only resistant parts of his body in that case would be the fully crystallized sections of his limbs.
I guess the blame's on me, 'cause i tacked this on at the very end of the ability's description, in a place where one wouldn't think to look for it, but here's the extra info:
As an auxiliary power, Quebra, at no cost, can transform parts of the armor into the same sort of crystal grown from his limbs, maximum toughness - the main reason to do this may be the fact that the liquid provides no heat or electrical resistance, unlike the crystal.
So it's pretty much anything but the legs/arms right now.
All in all, it was a matter of perspective: what seemed to Rook as an appallingly bad move came off as a negligible risk for Quebra. The first shot failed to impress with its impact, and he was certain he'd shrug off a second just as easily - as long as he kept the situation under control.
Judging by the end result, one could say he did a satisfactory job of it: a spray of crystalline shards once more spouted from atop his abdomen, imparting a momentary prick of pain in his gut and a slightly more permanent ache in the muscle, along with stripping away completely the weakened portion of his armor, leaving the lower quarter of his torso with a large gap in its protection. It didn't fold him over, nor did it halt his approach. Deliberately holding back from sprinting at his foe, the energy his own body contributed to the impact was minimized, and without any adjustment in aim from Rook, the beanbag hit at the same oblique angle as the shot before, slipping off before it could impart its full force and bumping into the discus fused with Quebra's right arm.
Even then, it still hit hard - but Quebra's armor too, performed its function despite being damaged.
If there was one thing he could fault himself for, it was failing to account for his damaged armor, resulting a little more damage than he should've taken: the few seconds between the shots was enough for the substance to revert back into liquid form, but not enough for it to mend back into one piece, tampering with the dissipating properties and simply compromising its integrity, allowing the shot to break through and tag its target with what felt like a solid, quick jab in the stomach.
Rook had him softened up, armor chipped away and abs bruised, a notch more sensitive to further strikes than they would be otherwise. Worse yet, he did so for free, Quebra having nothing to retaliate with at range - at least, nothing that could make the walking fridge of a man as much as flinch. Having no answer to his opponent's offensive was in fact the main motivation behind the wrestler's bullheaded charge. He hated being the underdog in a fight, the one with the odds stacked against him, struggling to turn the tables around. It wasn't the role he was yearned to be known for, and the sooner he was in the driver's seat, dictating the fight's flow, the more it'd please him. Frankly, it'd be hard to boss around a man almost two heads higher and with a tower shield in hand, but even as a passive player, the wrestler wouldn't settle for a game where his only option was to defend.
Thus, teeth clenched, a pained frown cutting creases into his forehead, he carried on fueled by pride and maintained the same pace as before. The same reason behind his sloppy guard also served to rid him of any hesitation: his focus the whole time was on the opponent, rather than himself, and the moment Rook lowered his shotgun, Quebra knew this was his chance to seize the initiative.
The method would be rather simple: rush in and get a good grip on the riot shield. With the way Rook presented it to him, it seemed like the merc wasn't going go anywhere, confident that he could easily weather anything thrown his way - rightfully so. And it was this exactly that Quebra decided to bank in on, reckoning that his opponent wouldn't acknowledge the grapple as a threat enough to avoid it - or perhaps, they'd even welcome it, seeing as the man was noticeably larger than Quebra himself.
Running in, he burnt through the last specks of his crystalbending charge to crack the discus and makeshift braces fused to his forearms, shards of ruptured glass crunching under his feet as they dropped, ridding him of excess weight. When no more than a yard and a half would be left between them, the wrestler would go in for his grapple, both arms snaking out ahead of his body, fingers seeking to wrap themselves around the shield's rim at just above his own shoulder height. If they found purchase, Quebra would then follow through with the rest of his weight, slamming his forearms against the plastic and leaning against it, as if to rest as he patiently awaited a response.
Still, another hit to the same spot would make for tenfold the pain, now that it was stripped of protection, so first things first, he moved the discus-wielding arm to cover it up. ------ Leading arm's fingers were raised up to cheekbone level; right arm stayed guarding its side of the stomach.
Especially when said projectile is aimed right for the same spot as before, where the armour is weak and your guard is too, the lower torso.
Just making sure we're on the same page, since i am intending the shot to hit Quebra's arm this time, and not the stomach. The right side of his armor got damaged, but his guard is there, with crystal-covered arm and discus protecting the area, and left side is still in good shape.