In My Dream [Kizuna, Komugi, Ranma]

His sword landed true to its target, but it didn’t cut through – it was impossible. Such a stupidly sturdy stomach and hip, it stopped Hōkamaru from cutting deeper despite the tremendous force behind his swing. Arrancar bodies weren’t usually this sturdy, were they?!

The temperatures in the air around them was rapidly changing between the unbearable heat of Cero, and the cold fury of Komugi’s Bankai. The air was getting blurry and wavy, saturated with all of their Spiritual Pressures as Ranma briefly glanced at the enemy’s grinning face… and his eyes widened. She didn’t look hurt or bothered or furious at all. She looked monstrously content, yet craving more, like a child who just tried out a wild roller coaster for the first time and wanted a second ride.

His arms were shaking at the sight of her ripping her own damn jaw off, and his heartrate felt like it’d reached the thousands at this point. He frenzied and pulled Hōkamaru off of her injured midsection in haste, the sword’s lavender aura spilling out as he flung its Reiatsu as an arc aiming once more at her form. He was in range, and he could slow her down – that was Hōkamaru’s greatest strength, so why not use the fuck out of it now that he was close to her?! Whatever she was doing, he had to delay it, even for a millisec-

With the amount of pressure in the air, he just barely noticed the pylons aiming at him. Having aimed his sword at the Arrancar herself, there was no way in hell that he could cast a Bakudō spell in time. He was doomed. He’d actually fucking die-

Something… something cracked inside of his arm, but he was suddenly moving away faster than his own feet could’ve ever brought him. The whiplash from the advance of Komugi alone almost knocked him out, and he could barely breathe – both the whipping, cutting wind, paired with the giant Cero explosion that spread out were damaging him, searing his skin with bloody cuts and red burn marks. Safe to say, his sturdy body was pushed to the very limit today – his mind was getting foggy too. He couldn’t even put up a Bakudō to help protect Komugi, not when everything in the world around him was injuring him at the very moment.

Using Yone again:

What… it went quiet now. Komugi might’ve seen her wave at them, maybe, but Ranma was too preoccupied biting the pain in – his arm felt like it’d been cracked like a celery stick. No signs of the enemy’s Spiritual Pressure a moment later – as if she just… dipped. In the middle of the chaos. Why’d she just disappear? What happened?

Both he and Komugi were beat, a hair’s length from just collapsing – at least, he was mainly talking about himself, feeling that his durable body had gone above and beyond its limits. His arm kept cracking whenever he tried to move it… shit… he really wanted Erica to check on it right about now.

“K-Komu… arm… shit… c-crashed… arhhhhhhhhhhhh… c-could you pour the gourd down my throat? I'd like a lunch break about now…” His gourd was strapped to his sash, pink and rather girlishly decorated, still intact against all odds.