[ There's discipline in his opponent - in the way he doesn't give in to the instinct to protectively curl into himself, in how he keeps trying different ways to get at him, to overcome him - signs that lead Riku to think he's been trained in this. Not by some carefully curated lesson plan, no militant conditioning, but something more down to earth.
Experienced. Or trained by someone who knows what it means to brawl in the dirt and come out on top. He's leaner than Riku but that doesn't mean his masked pursuer is weak, where Riku might have the advantage in brute strength, his opponent is clever and ever-changing in his strategy. At a better time, he'd be challenged to keep up with how the masked one is thinking steps ahead, at a time like this, Riku can only react.
The other boy wrenches free the arm he's been trying to pin to the ground above his masked head, elbow crashing into the bony ridge of his eye socket. By the crackle of bright pain and the heat that fills it a second later, Riku knows it'll leave him with a black eye; it means he draws back his arm and drops his fist not against Bruce's side but aiming higher, for his cheek.
You feel it, don't you? The potential. This one knows the darkness. Has yielded to it, just as you have, boy. Just as you will again.
That's the opening Bruce was waiting for, the world spins and the frost-tipped undergrowth crunches under Riku's back. He grabs at him, trying to put his palm between them, to try to press up against sternum or shoulder for distance. Without it, he'll be pinned down-
Riku's throaty grunt of effort and his glare, his whole body stops like a startle, reacting to something Bruce can't hear.
He's fought by Sora's side and he's fought against him. There's been enough time and opportunities to know the sorts of sounds he makes when it's exertion and effort, the sort of exhales when he's putting his whole self behind a swing of his keyblade, the cry he makes when he's hurt- and badly.
What he thinks he hears is worse because it cuts out sharply, almost as soon as it started and, ironically, Riku almost questions if he heard it at all. Then he hears the crash of something metal and glass like it's collided so hard against something it exploded into that tinkle of broken pieces.
Sora's lantern had metal and glass and too many lights inside.
It's not accurate to say that Riku stops fighting, he's just not throwing punches. There's a sudden change in tactic where Riku's trying to claw for a hold on Bruce secure enough to throw him off, straining towards where he'd supposedly watched him depart. ]
Sora? [ There's an edge of something in the next yell, something that makes his throat sound tight and dry in the cold. ] Sora?!
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Experienced. Or trained by someone who knows what it means to brawl in the dirt and come out on top. He's leaner than Riku but that doesn't mean his masked pursuer is weak, where Riku might have the advantage in brute strength, his opponent is clever and ever-changing in his strategy. At a better time, he'd be challenged to keep up with how the masked one is thinking steps ahead, at a time like this, Riku can only react.
The other boy wrenches free the arm he's been trying to pin to the ground above his masked head, elbow crashing into the bony ridge of his eye socket. By the crackle of bright pain and the heat that fills it a second later, Riku knows it'll leave him with a black eye; it means he draws back his arm and drops his fist not against Bruce's side but aiming higher, for his cheek.
You feel it, don't you? The potential. This one knows the darkness. Has yielded to it, just as you have, boy. Just as you will again.
That's the opening Bruce was waiting for, the world spins and the frost-tipped undergrowth crunches under Riku's back. He grabs at him, trying to put his palm between them, to try to press up against sternum or shoulder for distance. Without it, he'll be pinned down-
Riku's throaty grunt of effort and his glare, his whole body stops like a startle, reacting to something Bruce can't hear.
He's fought by Sora's side and he's fought against him. There's been enough time and opportunities to know the sorts of sounds he makes when it's exertion and effort, the sort of exhales when he's putting his whole self behind a swing of his keyblade, the cry he makes when he's hurt- and badly.
What he thinks he hears is worse because it cuts out sharply, almost as soon as it started and, ironically, Riku almost questions if he heard it at all. Then he hears the crash of something metal and glass like it's collided so hard against something it exploded into that tinkle of broken pieces.
Sora's lantern had metal and glass and too many lights inside.
It's not accurate to say that Riku stops fighting, he's just not throwing punches. There's a sudden change in tactic where Riku's trying to claw for a hold on Bruce secure enough to throw him off, straining towards where he'd supposedly watched him depart. ]
Sora? [ There's an edge of something in the next yell, something that makes his throat sound tight and dry in the cold. ] Sora?!