[ Something's going on there. Squalo's instincts are as keen as any beast's, and while he may not be able to see the aura, he can probably sense it once he's been in its vicinity often enough. For now it's just something unclear, a weird vibe of sorts, as if something under his skin is trying to warn him. ]
[ A nice maneuver, he thinks, but not nice enough, as he raises his sword to meet the attack from above and -- the fucker manages to dodge it in midair. Kicking off the ceiling, probably, and Squalo swears as his blade only catches the edge of a (not) oversized shirt. ]
[ Then there's a sting in his thigh. ]
[ Fuck. ]
[ The blade comes out of the wound and the leg gives out, sending him down on one knee, but he's pulled through worse than this. He doesn't wait for the finishing blow; immediately he rolls backwards -- damn it, he keeps retreating, and he still got injured -- flinging a knife that he's retrieved from who knows where toward Feitan's neck, and forcing himself back to his feet. ]
[ It's over. He won't be able to move like he did before. But he does not acknowledge that, raising his sword in a defensive position again as blood streams down his leg. His grin's still on his face, too. What a lunatic. ]
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[ A nice maneuver, he thinks, but not nice enough, as he raises his sword to meet the attack from above and -- the fucker manages to dodge it in midair. Kicking off the ceiling, probably, and Squalo swears as his blade only catches the edge of a (not) oversized shirt. ]
[ Then there's a sting in his thigh. ]
[ Fuck. ]
[ The blade comes out of the wound and the leg gives out, sending him down on one knee, but he's pulled through worse than this. He doesn't wait for the finishing blow; immediately he rolls backwards -- damn it, he keeps retreating, and he still got injured -- flinging a knife that he's retrieved from who knows where toward Feitan's neck, and forcing himself back to his feet. ]
[ It's over. He won't be able to move like he did before. But he does not acknowledge that, raising his sword in a defensive position again as blood streams down his leg. His grin's still on his face, too. What a lunatic. ]
How the hell did you get past me?