Bruce's countenance faltered for just a moment. He had seen and heard many things in his life- it required something truly absurd for him to break character. 
[color=0072bc][b]"HA!"[/b][/color] 
A bark of laughter escaped him, and given the depth of his voice, it echoed. The Ki he'd used to strike his nerve center wasn't affecting his body by overexerting muscle- it was a stimuli to trigger a self-taught behavioral response which made it easier to shut down the conscious brain to body connection and allowed his mind to focus on other things while his body simply moved according to his reflexes.
Bruce landed on his platform and stood up straight, the dirt material of unknown origin moving beneath his robe again.
The dozen swords that had formed from the mace doubled in number again, each flying to alternating positions on either side of his cylinder of chains, which continued to grow steadily smaller and tighter. Four of them flew inside the cylinder above them above, and each sword came to rest in a position mimicking that of when Bruce prepared to draw it from his sheath in one motion. One last sword, the twenty-fifth, remained in Bruce's floating right hand.

Fractured mind? Bruce had some concerns about Jeff but he was hardly under significant psychological pressure. 

Give out? True, he'd want a drink after this, but Bruce's body 'gave out' when the mission was done or he was in pieces.

The grid that Bruce's cylinder of chains had formed repeated itself at the top and bottom, just an inch above the floor. The difference was that the chains on the bottom grid served dual purposes, as each link had razor edges sharp enough to slice a thread of hair falling from one's head. The walls and the ceiling of the cylinder were the same. Within the tiny gap of each link was a spike. The gaps in the floor grid were smaller than those of the walls of chains- if Zelriane wanted to keep his feet, he'd have to jump.

At that moment, the floor grid began moving upward, ready to cut into anything that could be considered an obstacle. The twenty four blades all sang out with horizontal slashes, aiming to meet at the center of the cage. The slicing shockwave each produced burst through the vertical chains of the walls, but they immediately repaired themselves and the cage kept shrinking. The space between where each shockwave met was less than a foot, the uppermost horizontal wave just shy of Bruce's sphere. Zelriane had to keep going up swiftly to avoid them all, and he'd lose at least a large part of one appendage if he twisted his body between them. The four swords overhead brought down vertical projections of the same nature, all of them aimed to just skim the outer edge of Bruce's chain sphere. They intruded on the space Zelriane would need to avoid the horizontal cuts and get to the cylinder's wall, if he so chose to lose fingers instead of arms. 

All the focused, musically tuned Ki being expended came with a price- the sphere of chains spinning around Bruce were compromised, more so behind him than in front of him. He changed them to leave a vulnerable point at his back so he could maintain the necessary spinning in front to keep Zelriane out. The swords that had slashed dissipated, having done their task.

A copy of his left hand had now formed in front of him. It flew out the hole behind him. 

Two-tenths of a second after all this had been made to happen, the chains in Bruce's broken sphere shot out new lengths with spiked ends from all angles toward him- they were designed to react to his sage state and dissipate just before striking his body. 

Another tenth of a second after that, his copied right hand, Ki all rippling toward the blade's apex for maximum piercing potential, came rocketing toward Bruce's back, right where his lungs would be, intent on puncturing Zelriane's own organs when the Order member inevitably came to attack. Bruce's real hands each gripped curved daggers, jamming them backward simultaneously toward where an opponent's legs would meet their torso.