[ Mikazuki senses the impact pressure before the pain. This is a man he's seen cleave hurtling bullets in two, with a reach that extends beyond his own. Mikazuki knows that he knows those things on a reactionary level, the one that rises swiftly to meet the rational ceiling of his ability once he knows what's happening. Minimize damage — that's where instinct crosses with animal intelligence.
Takasugi's strike zone is high when it arcs up from below, and Mikazuki's center of gravity is low. He can avoid the first slash, but not the following wind back and straight strike. So he gives up the momentary advantage of being uninjured to let the blade pierce skin and embed into shoulder muscle. Cleanly, the slide of it almost too smooth as Mikazuki angles to miss bone and tendon. He'd gone so long without his right arm that his posture adjusts in an instant flicker of balance, gun swapping hands. He breathes in through the sensation, past teeth and loudly back out again as if shredded by the momentum he's holding in, trembling.
Coming here, he'd been done with losing to Ysverai. But even with its fractured miasma looming overhead, it quickly stops being about the dragon. It's his own aura that surges up in the back of his skull, even if he's never harmed an ally without being told to, for however much good that had done him in the life before this one.
He's wired to know how Takasugi moves. With the motor function in his right arm not completely gone, he grabs the blade to steady himself, anchors, and swings his left arm up to fire off two shots. Thigh, artery. Throat — everything else. ]
no subject
Takasugi's strike zone is high when it arcs up from below, and Mikazuki's center of gravity is low. He can avoid the first slash, but not the following wind back and straight strike. So he gives up the momentary advantage of being uninjured to let the blade pierce skin and embed into shoulder muscle. Cleanly, the slide of it almost too smooth as Mikazuki angles to miss bone and tendon. He'd gone so long without his right arm that his posture adjusts in an instant flicker of balance, gun swapping hands. He breathes in through the sensation, past teeth and loudly back out again as if shredded by the momentum he's holding in, trembling.
Coming here, he'd been done with losing to Ysverai. But even with its fractured miasma looming overhead, it quickly stops being about the dragon. It's his own aura that surges up in the back of his skull, even if he's never harmed an ally without being told to, for however much good that had done him in the life before this one.
He's wired to know how Takasugi moves. With the motor function in his right arm not completely gone, he grabs the blade to steady himself, anchors, and swings his left arm up to fire off two shots. Thigh, artery. Throat — everything else. ]