[Maybe the tension boiling just barely under the surface between them would finally bubble over, maybe they wouldn't be able to pull back from the final blow... Maybe they would, but exhaustion would claim one of them out from the jaws of the other.
Better make it good.
Takasugi seemed to agree, because he wasn't making it easy for him. He didn't let him pin him, he didn't whine about taking the hit, he didn't do much more than strike back, and Kamui had to make a choice between taking a hit to his arm or to his face.
Or neither, he supposed, but that would be losing his vantage point.
No. No, he'd rather decide on none of the above, because his other hand (his off hand, thankfully) whipped up to block, reflexes kicking in with how he'd trained to react to something flying towards his face.
Takasugi's hand met his palm at the same time he registered that the slick sound of tearing ligament and muscle was a lot more sickening when it was your own.
He wondered if he'd be able to do much with it after this, but if nothing else, he could wrap it into a fist and make do. Maybe even keep a weapon wrapped into his grip.
Maybe this fucking knife, since it was definitely his, now.]
Hey, hey, Shinsuke, what do you have against eyes, huh?
[He jokes, but a half-second later he's whipping his foot around to press the sole of his shoe into Takasugi's neck. Can't choke him with his free hand, that's busy holding his wrist so he doesn't take the knife back and start stabbing again. Can't pin him properly, because, again, stabby tendencies. So. Improvising.]
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Better make it good.
Takasugi seemed to agree, because he wasn't making it easy for him. He didn't let him pin him, he didn't whine about taking the hit, he didn't do much more than strike back, and Kamui had to make a choice between taking a hit to his arm or to his face.
Or neither, he supposed, but that would be losing his vantage point.
No. No, he'd rather decide on none of the above, because his other hand (his off hand, thankfully) whipped up to block, reflexes kicking in with how he'd trained to react to something flying towards his face.
Takasugi's hand met his palm at the same time he registered that the slick sound of tearing ligament and muscle was a lot more sickening when it was your own.
He wondered if he'd be able to do much with it after this, but if nothing else, he could wrap it into a fist and make do. Maybe even keep a weapon wrapped into his grip.
Maybe this fucking knife, since it was definitely his, now.]
Hey, hey, Shinsuke, what do you have against eyes, huh?
[He jokes, but a half-second later he's whipping his foot around to press the sole of his shoe into Takasugi's neck. Can't choke him with his free hand, that's busy holding his wrist so he doesn't take the knife back and start stabbing again. Can't pin him properly, because, again, stabby tendencies. So. Improvising.]