Vanitas follows the momentum, like a feral dog, coming after Riku even after he's blown the distance and slammed into the counter, rattling all the glasses still sitting on it. With his single-minded intent on closing the distance, he enters the space the same moment the stool comes up and it cracks him across the face— loudly. Flecks of broken wood splinter off against the metal edges of the remnants of his helmet and scatter into the air.

The edges of his helmet, still cleaved to his jaw, take the worst of the blow— but Vanitas' head still snaps to the right and he feels his teeth go through his lip, the searing pain, the taste of copper that floods his mouth. He recovers fast, enough that Riku is still finishing the motion of his swing when Vanitas snatches the leg of the stool, wrenching it toward himself.

He might not pull the furniture out of Riku's hand, but it doesn't matter. It pulls them closer together and will let Vanitas pivot and get behind him, plant his boot against the other boy's body to kick him into another table.