The Blade at Your Throat [Lukas/Solomon]

THE CITY OF LIGHT
The reverse grip had been clumsier than Lukas was willing to admit, the white hot anger than roiled within the only thing making it worthwhile. His muscles already began to scream, the flow of blut more reishi than he could handle at the moment. Not fucking enough.

The close quarters did little for his effective range. Options at hand were narrowing with each movement, the lackluster blade compounding on his frustrations. Right-handed made it worse, Solomon following up near immediately after the blade grazed him. There was no thought for Lukas, his sanrei bound arm snapping forwards as the blade approached.

The electricity tingled through his skin, grit teeth as pupils shrunk. Fingers tightened around the blade, a faint glow rippling through Lukas. Even in this state, with his weakened abilities, this he could feel confident in. Knuckles flared white as he attempted to rip apart Solomon's reishi, pulling the man and his weapon forward as he stabbed again; this time downwards at his thigh. Blood mixed between his fingers, his focus locking to the other man's gaze.

"Bring it, bitch."

Expecting a counter for a counter, Solomon, for the first time during this battle, found himself ill-prepared for Lukas next action. Dumbfounded didn't even come close to quantifying his reaction. In that next sequence, rather than match him strike for strike with his blade, Lukas sanrei bound arm shot forward, his hand gripping around Keraunos with such unbridled fury that it left the Sternritter momentarily distracted, allowing his blade thrust directly in his thigh. It was only through a last second reaction that he tapped into the defensive function of his blut, to keep the sword from digging directly into his flesh, but the blade reached it's mark as intended. A direct hit.

Gritting his teeth, his eyes met with Lukas for a moment, viewing the look in that man's eyes as the words fell viciously from his lips. Under normal circumstances, perhaps to any other opponent, Solomon would've ignored it, passing it off as a meaningless taunt. He would've adopted the classic idiom of sticks and stones. However... coming from his mouth, it felt personal. As a man who had survived a battle where he questioned his own capability, one could certainly say it was the element for a perfect storm. In the next moment, his anger escalated. He no longer cared for matching movement, devising strategy, or anything else. He wanted to beat him to a pulp.

Solomon barely registered the pain in his thigh; his hand gripping around Lukas blade, aiming to pull him downward in preparation for a vicious counter of his own. Bolting upward like a bullet loosed at high velocity, Solomon aimed to slam his head directly into Lukas jaw. It was an act that didn't even account for strategy anymore. At this point, it was more akin to a man wishing to assert his will onto this battle, to force the bastard to eat his words. If he countered it? So be it. He'd still keep at it until both of them were bloodied and required medical attention. To hell with a spar.

THE CITY OF LIGHT
More. MORE. Reishi at his fingertips, fighting to not tear apart in his grip. The edge cutting further into his skin, surging electricity spasming against his arm. Lukas would not relent, an animalistic yell as Solomon responded with a headbutt. A step forward with bloodshot eyes, pushing down onto his weapon with blood flecked spittle flying free.

The moment would be an eternity for either of them. If Solomon took no regards to his own weapon, it would snap underneath Lukas' surging draw of absorption, and if Lukas continued his heedless assault, Solomon would be able to retaliate god knows how much. The slip of a leg would be all it'd take for either of them to collapse, and spread apart like struck down trees. But Lukas would not relent, not so long as he thought he could win.

A spar? No, he never had such intentions.

This was a battle for pride, whether the other Quincy wanted to acknowledge it or not.

Solomon no longer paid any regard to his spirit weapon, hardly registering the cracks forming in his weapon as Lukas prolonged absorption began to wear away at Keraunos. If his sword was no longer available to him, what the hell would he care for? He'd fight with his fists. However, if his blade was to be removed from the equation, so too would that man-made steel Lukas wielded in his hands. Solomon, bringing both fury and strength to bear, would bend the sword with his bare hand, aiming to break it in half. Even as his own spirit weapon began to fade away, Solomon reared his arm forward to punch Lukas in the jaw.

If it landed, good. if not? He'd still repeat another jab right to his face, and if he missed at the face, he'd roar forward with a punch to the chest. Placing his weight into his legs, he'd rise up, aiming to force Lukas back even if his weapon didn't bend or break. Spirit weapon or not, he no longer cared about the spar. To begin with, how foolish was he to believe that a spar of this nature would allow him to impose his will? To show him his determination, his fire? No, this was no spar. This was a battle of pride. At first, he didn't want to admit it, didn't want to channel that anger that had been gnawing away at him ever since his brush with death. Even so, in a moment like this, Solomon simply wanted to prove a goddamn point. Lukas taunt had merely been the catalyst to set him his ferocity ablaze.

THE CITY OF LIGHT
A dizzying exchange, Solomon's spirit weapon crumbling into Lukas' grip as he struck. In turn the steel in his opposite hand would bend underneath the man's force, his own attempt to drive it down only exacerbating the force as it buckled, metal snapping. A punch slamming towards Lukas as he pulled back, Keraunos' destruction seemingly absent as concern.

Then again, he didn't give a shit his weapon was destroyed. Pot meet kettle.

Reeling from the blow, Lukas backpedaled with the pair of broken weapons, blade disappearing into his skin. Throwing the hilt across and into his free hand, he spit a glob of blood downwards, an animalistic roar as he plunged forwards. The broken blade shot out with a thrust, drawing back to repeat the motion again again and again - the snapping motion of his arm forcing as much speed as he could still muster. The range was lacking, and he was tired, bruised, but most of all; Lukas was pissed.

Even if it was at himself, that didn't matter. It never mattered who. Kicking someone's ass was the only cure he needed.

In an instant, two blades were shattered. With their ability to manipulate reishi, they could've certainly restored these weapons with some measure of focus, but that seemed to be the last thing on either of their minds right now. They were akin to maddened beasts, destined to clash relentlessly until the object of their aggression conceded defeat or passed out entirely. To be certain, Solomon's anger went far beyond Lukas. He never held a high opinion of the man, to begin with, and he barely knew him on a personal level to come to a reasonable conclusion anyway. Each punch thrown was aimed toward an imaginary enemy whose actions angered him to no end.

Lukas backpedaled from the blow, but Solomon wouldn't dare consider it a success. He wanted to knock the bastard out clean. The anger bubbling within him demanded to see this man recognize him as an equal, even if it meant he choke on his own blood. All matters of propriety no longer seemed to apply. Fury burned within Solomon's eyes as an animalistic roar escape his own mouth, raising his fists upwards as he rushed forward to face him again. The stab to his thigh had affected his movement to an extent, and Solomon possessed no intention of using a speed technique to close the distance.

Solomon, if he were currently of sound mind, could've avoided every thrust, but that was how losers thought. Why the hell would he back down? Each stab that cut or tore into his arm was painful, but the adrenaline registered it as a sensation akin to a bastardized form of euphoria. Reaching out to grab at one of his arms, Solomon would sweep a leg forward to throw them both off balance. Those broken blades were getting in the way. To hell with swords, didn't Lukas want to punch his face in, too!?

"Come on! Those swords don't mean shit to us now! I'm pretty fuckin sure' you want to kick my ass, so come on! Or are you the one who's the real bitch here!?"

His thigh was in pain, his arms were in pain - as much as his rage-induced adrenaline tried to suppress it - and he was reaching a point of exhaustion himself, but none of that mattered. He wouldn't stop until he released all of that pent-up aggression in his soul.

THE CITY OF LIGHT
"Don't go making excuses for yourself." Lukas responded coldly, Solomon's arm darting to meet him. The following legsweep kicked off his balance, the man's strength peeking through to advantage himself. Reeling onto his back, Lukas gripped the hilt to smash it into whatever he could manage for an underhanded punch. Aiming the jutting metal to fit into whatever cuts had already been established, it was an impromptu attack meant to hurt more than to win.

"Think you coulda taken that Arrancar if he didn't have a sword?!" Attempting to shove the hilt further as spittle flew from deranged words, his stare of vehemence was even with the other man's. "A WEAPON'S ONLY GOOD AS YOU CAN MAKE IT!" A sharp inhale as his head drew back, other arm still gripped in the Quincy's strength. Silver splayed outwards like a halo, hair freely whipping as his face slammed forward. A headbutt, sloppy and aggressive. There was no sense, no reason behind it. If it collided, he would probably pass out, if it didn't, it would leave him open.

Either way, he was looking to end it.

Solomon's body registered the excruciating pain of that shattered hilt digging into the cuts in his flesh and yet his rage compelled his body to remain unyielding. The sheer ferocity of those azure hues matched the man's vehement stare. His words were undeniably correct, much as he hated to admit it. Just because their swords had been shattered, Lukas had remained on the offensive, using his shattered blade down to its last remnants. Solomon simply allowed Keraunos to disperse, believing his fists were his only weapon in this brutal engagement.

Heh... this bastard. They were fighting like savage beasts, and yet Solomon found himself developing a slightly more positive opinion of the man than the one he held at the outset. Even so, that meant nothing to him now. To suffer defeat here would invite shame. Perhaps it was a case of matching one another movement for movement, but at the moment Lukas forehead roared in for a fierce headbutt, Solomon thrust his head forward as well, aiming to match him pound for pound. To be honest, he was confused as to whether his desire was to emerge victorious or to simply be acknowledged, to be viewed as someone to be counted on in times of danger.

He was effectively fighting two opponents at the same time. The Ichigo in his mind and Lukas in the physical world. At full force, Solomon was looking to end their clash, regardless of the pain, his head crashing against the man's crown. A final flicker of rage burned in his gaze, matching him stare for stare, his consciousness slowly fading from the harsh impact.

Perhaps, an onlooker might have viewed this as foolish. Rather than a spar, they engaged in a savage, brutish display - lacking elegance, form, or even technique - and yet, the smile on Solomon's face quite clearly expressed the cathartic effect this wild mess of a fight had on his spirits. The anger would never leave him entirely, but to simply let loose like this and let his fury flow? He couldn't have asked for a better outcome.

THE CITY OF LIGHT
The taste of blood flooded the man's mouth.

Grit teeth gnashed aimlessly, having bit down hard on his tongue and inner cheek. Black dots swam on the edges of his vision, his grip growing softer. Scheiße. Lukas' rage began to grow quiet as his mind became foggy. Knuckles fought to tighten as the spots multiplied, spasm catching in his leg.

Fight, fight against the dying light - however much he tried, Lukas failed. Slipping fast, his consciousness would shift into nothing. Shifting from the imperial blackness, a dream began to form of numerous silhouettes. Hushed voices and disgusted looks, the clink of chains.

Another repeat.

What a fuckin waste. Lukas' body fell limp against the floor, eyes shutting in silence.