[2nd/11th] Week 285: A Blunted Edge

[Wayne]

5,093
A Blunted Edge
Raph | Wayne​

He sighed, staring at the door with a measure of trepidation. The secretary had already told him the man wasn't busy, but a certain thrill of apprehension went down his spine nonetheless.

Kiro of Shenrai knocked twice on the door of the Eleventh Captain's office. Twice, and no more. His attire, strange for the banality of his position. A scribe, robed in the field gear often reserved for the most seasoned of spies. A black mask drawn about his neck, ready to be pulled up to disguise the majority of his features. His kosode, lashed shut by a black sash and undecorated by his division's numeral. Instead, a single small diamond on the sash denoted his affiliation to the Gotei.

Breathing deep, he fidgeted with the bracers about his arms, clamping down on his sleeves. Omoni had taken time to become used to, the armor serving as a good anchor for his soul.

The rust-haired man was broken from his reverie by a sharp, "Enter!" from within the office. Steeling his nerves, he opened the door and stepped in.

Schematics and blueprints littered floor. Cluttered mostly by one corner, a number of them were maps of the Seireitei, while most were simply diagrams detailing both the outer and inner perimeters of the squad grounds. There were even a few files containing information about the Eleventh’s Senkaimon building, as well as its staff housing plans—both tagged as “RENOVATE” in big bold letters.

The captain, holding one particular unmarked folder in his hand, turned to acknowledge the scribe.

“Shenrai,” was the only word that left his lips, followed immediately by a slow nod.

Although it appeared otherwise, Kyuketsu was not particularly hammered by work. The mess in his room was simply the aftermath of the previous night’s engagement with his secretary, acquainting her with a few of the squad’s more ‘sensitive’ information. His domain was never usually that unkempt, but for now it had to do.

Swallowing down his apprehension, the man glanced only briefly about the office before focusing on the captain. "Reijuu-taichou. I trust this day finds you well?"

The man would either humor him, or grow impatient. Either worked for Kiro, the curious gleam in his orange eyes ever-present.

“Could be better, could be worse,” he responded with a shrug.

He walked over to his desk, navigating carefully as to not tip over any piles of stacked paper. Slipping the document into one of the table’s repositories, the captain sat himself by its edge, facing his visitor. The last time they met, the air was stricken with intense suspicion. Façade after façade came into play, their wits constantly coming at odds against one another. In the end, after all the verbal sparring, the information Kyuketsu gained access to was but a scant few. While not a completely wasted situation, the scrutiny and distrust from the spy seemingly grew tenfold.

However, despite all that, to now see Kiro willingly entering his territory was something completely and thoroughly unexpected. Leery of him or not, the man surely caught the Duelist by surprise.

“You didn’t have to personally deliver that files I asked for,” he teased rather coldly. “That is why you’re here, yes?”

A light smile crept across Kiro's features. "Well after our meeting, I felt as though I owed it to you. After all, who knows if some less-than-reputable type might try and take it for themselves?"

His eyes took in all they could of the man's posture. Every shift, every errant twitch, he caught all of it. Pulling three small file folders from beneath his arm, he held them out noncommittally for the Captain. "Kuragari Seisatsu. Anton Zhukov. Eve Erdeschalk. I trust you'll find their records to be quite... enlightening?"

The words rolled off his tongue in a practiced manner, as though the man weren't quite sure himself. Still, it was only one half of why he was here. Something was up, something dark that the spy couldn't place a finger on. He intended to find out, true to the methodology of the Second.

Suddenly turning to one side, he casually looked across the various information strewn about the office. "The Duelists are coming along well. Their drills become more intense, more testing with every visit I pay. I've no doubt you'll have them restored to their... former... status in the Gotei in no time."

He punctuated the statement with a disarming smile.

The spy’s sudden change of heart wasn’t met without any slight skepticism. Kiro had only promised Zhukov’s data, and yet to give more beyond that spelled one of two things: either the information was strictly limited, or that he wanted something in exchange. For all the captain knew, it might have even been both. Regardless, his acquisition of the trio’s dossiers was an altogether welcomed exposure.

Right as the captain’s eyes broke off from the man’s ‘gift,’ he immediately took note of the amicable, though still off-putting expression plastered on Kiro’s face. He retaliated against the gesture, tried to get a read of him, to trespass and prod inside the bastard’s head. There was something more to him, and Kyuketsu was eager to figure out what. The subtleties of mind games seemed fitting for the moment, tempting as they were. Then again, Kyuketsu just couldn’t help but be Kyuketsu.

“You seem like the type of man who has a fervent fondness for riddles.” Half a smirk crept over his countenance. “I personally can’t stand them though. I’d even go so far as to say I despise implied nuances and cryptic innuendos... quite inexorably, at that.”

There was a slight pause that sat between his words. As his tone grew more steady and electrified, he proceeded, “Which one is your mask, I wonder.”

He laughed slightly, playing to the captain's impatience. "Who's to say they both aren't?

"My motives, on the contrary," He continued, leaning over one blueprint as he tip-toed around a second, "appear to be quite transparent."

Looking up and fixing the man with another amicable expression, he finished. "I would have something of a request for you."

“Then request away,” he gestured his hands outward, “Just like with riddles, I have little affection for being under anyone’s debt. You humored my curiosity and given me above and beyond what I asked for...”

Masks. Short, simple, even fragmented replies bit by bit pieced together the constructs of one’s inner workings. The constant, perpetual mind games that this man delved in, while in many ways vexing, proved quite an immersive challenge nonetheless.

“...So it’s its only right I return the favor.” He raised his eyebrows. “So long as it’s within reason.”

Sweet, beautiful irony. How it pierces the soul.

The spy chose his words carefully, aware that a single slip would earn him only a swift boot to the ass and a one-way ticket out of the Kyuketsu's office. "Just as you had need of information, I have need of... something else.

"A scribe loses their edge in combat, you see." He elaborated, his voice taking an oddly distant tone. "With time, they become complacent in their position, never called upon for field work."

Posturing straightening, he breathed deep as he turned to the Captain. Then, he bowed lightly to Kyuketsu. "Please... teach me the way of the sword."

Without so much as a delay stemming from the inquiry, the captain’s arm stretched out, motioning for the door.

“Then lead the way. Anywhere on the grounds will do,” he responded loftily.

Interesting how a good number of people approached Kyuketsu for that very same request—all in just a span of a few weeks. The variety was just as enthralling given the very similar nature held by spies and assassins. A particular lieutenant from the Ninth also sought counsel in regards to his swordplay, and sure enough the intricacies surrounding his former profession was a sight worth seeing. How similar it would come to that of a saboteur’s techniques, however, was still yet to be seen.

Leaving his haori behind, draped over his chair, Kyuketsu reached for his sword propped over just behind the table.

Eyebrows briefly raising, he chuckled lightly at the seeming ease with which the Captain accepted. "Well then, I suppose sooner rather than later works?"

The remark was more to himself, but he quickly vacated the office, Kyuketsu leading. A short ways later, they stood across from each other. Kiro's breathing evened, the curious gleam of his fiery eyes replaced with a tempered, calculating gaze.

With a flourish not deserved of a scribe, Sabigyoushou was loosed. The low ring of steel reverberated lightly in the spy's being, his heart rate beginning to rise as he tensed and relaxed himself periodically. Settling into a wide stance, he bore the wakizashi before him, angling its tip towards the Captain.

"If you don't mind my asking... how many have you trained in the way of the sword, Reijuu-taichou?"

The arid, dusted fields seemed appropriate for the occasion. Once a lush expanse of solid, calming green as far as the eye could see, the training grounds for the Eleventh had been systematically reduced to a shadow of its former self. From the battering of marching stomps, to the infernal heat unleashed by the division’s techniques, the earth itself was oppressed and subjugated under the squadron’s will. Under his will.

From underneath Kyuketsu’s feet, the faint, near-inaudible crackling of the dirt sounded off. The symphonic repetition played off in his ears, whispering and telling a story. The howling of the winds, the distant shrieks of metal as blades collapsed and met. A never-ending, maddening cycle.

Whatever semblance of calm which once ruled the captain slowly withered and died. His eyes narrowed, sharpening as they fell vehemently on the scribe’s figure.

“Enough to understand the difference between warriors and killers.” Tenzansatsu remained dormant, still wrapped in its sheath. “You’d be surprised at what you can learn about a man just from his presence. Just by the way he stands there and emits his... intent. All you need is time, and you can know how someone ticks just by staring at them.”

There was a fleeting pause that came after. “So what are you, I wonder? A warrior or a killer? Let’s find out.”

Scooping his left hand just so slightly, he beckoned the spy to attack.

A deep breath. Hot air pushed through his lungs. Exhaling, apprehension trailing down his spine before solidifying in his arms. Preparing, collecting, analyzing.

The movement was solid, dirt kicking up behind him as he cleared the distance as swiftly as he could. In a short flash, the wakizashi bore upwards, aimed in a short slash at the Captain's sword arm.

A clean, spontaneous flourish drove out Tenzansatsu from its cage. Seized by the captain’s left hand, the gleaming steel came to a diagonal ascent, catching and embracing the foreign assault. With a quick flick of the wrist, hilt spinning between his fingers, scraping metal churned the ears as Kyuketsu batted back Kiro’s blade. From its risen apex shining elegantly against the sun’s luster, a slow, controlled arc brought the raptor’s talon to his side.

“As you are now, your blade and mine are like heaven and earth.” He adjusted his grip, allowing the flat of the sword to face the spy. “So why would you ever want to fight fair? No smokes, no tricks, no distractions. Admirable if you were in my squad... but you’re not. But regardless of whether or not you’re a Duelist, it would behoove you consider every single thing that comes from my lips.”

He stepped off to the side, distancing himself just so slightly from Kiro. Another stride followed, then another. Soon, the captain was beginning to encircle the man—trapping him, drowning him in his shadow.

“Presence is universal. It doesn’t matter if you’re infantry or a medic. That instinctual, visceral aura that you give off is what’ll define you in and out of the battlefield. In the same sense that people are inherently weary of the dark, just by being there... just by existing, you exert something that drills into the very soul of others.” He balled his free hand into a fist, gesturing with it. “You consume them from the inside out. Learn that, and swordplay will practically become second nature.”

His ears rang with the calamitous squeal of the two blades matching. His response continued his amicable nature, though a certain enthusiasm had been lost from it. "What purpose is presence without the skill to present it? A bluff is something I am no stranger to, Reijuu-taichou, but presence is just that, an identity.

"What good was your presence, Taichou, when your skills were in their adolescence?" He retorted, keeping his eyes locked on the man's form. Then, as the man looked to be mid-step, Kiro swung forward again, aiming a jab at the man's hip.

His heels spun against the dirt, shifting and circumventing his weight away from the attack. The captain’s movements were followed with shrill precision, carrying him behind and around Kiro as the silent, surgical edge of his zanpakutou hovered lightly by the spy’s throat.

“It’s all right here.” Kyuketsu’s free right hand, his dominant hand, rose as its index finger tapped the side of the captain’s head. “Call it a self-hypnosis treatment. Once you burn an idea into your head enough times, when you suffocate yourself in a specific mindset, it grows and festers. It molds you, releases you. Once the inhibitions and bullshit are shed, you’ll begin to meet the real you.

“And you’re right; your swordplay is unrefined and only mildly polished. You already know the basics... but not much else. So we’ll build you a foundation, a platform where you can begin your ascent.” He pulled Tenzansatsu away from Kiro before reaffirming his stance. “Once your head’s in the right place, then we can work on the rest.”

Taking a few distancing steps from the Duelist, his features creased into a light frown. "And where is the right place?"

He didn't wait this time - immediately recovering the distance. Slashing deftly at the man's wrists, he twisted the blade lightly before it could land, bringing it down parallel to the man's arm and aiming for the knob of Kyuketsu's elbow!

“You should be the one answering that, not me.”

He made little effort to swat the incoming blow. His own blade was lowered, giving a wide enough opening that even the most uneducated novice could breach. Swerving his arm, an open palm met the damaging fall of Kiro’s zanpakutou. Flesh meeting the cold tingle of steel, a wash of scarlet seeped and furrowed down the length of the saboteur’s weapon. From his own perforated skin running down his forearm, Kyuketsu remained unhinged, undisturbed by the pain.

Eyes of gold falling atop the man, the captain mouthed, almost in a whisper, “I know exactly where my place is. I know what I want, and what I fight for. I’m aware what I have to do, and I understand which lines I have to cross to get what I seek.” His bloodied fingers wrapped around the spy’s blade, squeezing, tightening. “...While you... you don’t seem to know yourself at all. Or rather, you repress what you know.”

His grasp never wavered by the slightest. Pounding further into Kiro’s space, violating every iota of his presence, the captain leaned closer.

“The scars of yesteryear, the wounds that remain after all this time. Your eyes scream as if they had once felt despair, as if they were once smothered by insurmountable hopelessness.” He scoffed derisively, poking insults at the man. “I’m sorry, were you trying to forget some things?”

"Aren't we all?" He bit back, cheekily. The words echoed in his mind, rumbling along to the scarcity of his zanpakuto's presence. The golem has been but a passive support in its recovery, slowly piecing together its former strength.

He could feel sweat begin to bead, running down the back of his neck. "What was it you said, I'm not in your squad?"

A dangerous glint crossed the man's eyes, his voice intoning quickly. "Shou!"

The force of the first hadou, brief and weak though it was, separated the pair quickly. The dangerous look had yet to fade from his face, but he readied his sword once more, fresh blood trailing slowly from the keen edge.

"We all bear scars, don't we Taichou? Was it not a few months ago that you received one in Hueco Mundo?" He challenged. The records weren't public, of course... but the recorder had certain benefits. The captain began to circle him once more, but this time the spy mirrored him. Quickly, his pace matched the Duelists, eyes waiting for any opening presented.

“I did indeed.” He lifted his free hand, coiling its fingers tightly around his own throat. “The curse which limited the very source of my lethality, a chain which bound my wings to the earth. But you don’t see it anymore, do you?”

Once more from the captain’s core emerged the lightless sun. The famed, terrifying presence that he spoke of so fondly condensed, twisting and violating the air to his whim. Pulsating like a lasting heartbeat was the breath of the Duelists, a virulent, unseen fire which ravished the land. Switching grips, the captain looked on at the saboteur as he put a halt to his encircling gait.

“...I’ve conquered it. I broke through that wall of traumatic hysteria.” A faint mirage born of the heat slowly blurred Kyuketsu’s figure. “Because not only did I not fear it, I welcomed it. I embraced madness not as an old friend... but as its master. You seem privy to the happenings we captains face, so you probably already know. I danced with these ‘scars’ in Hueco Mundo, and again in Mt. Fuji. But what about you? What have you done, Kiro of Shenrai, to your scars?”

His body was thrown into a flash-step, coming inches in front of the spy. By the glistening of Tenzansatsu’s edge came a hurricane of strokes, a barrage of endless, destructive profanity which sought only to raze and devastate.

A strangled gasp was ripped from the Spy's mouth, a vestige of a biting retort as the man's blade disappeared before him.

In the span of time it took for the gasp to fully leave his lungs, Kiro had been struck eight times. Blood splashed into the air, crimson and fresh as it painted the nearby grounds. With a dumbstruck blink, the Spy fell.

His hamstrings had been cut lightly - an almost surgical blow, mirrored cuts along his ribcage making every breath an aching effort, every spoken word a monumental agony. "What... what does it... matter..? I am... a scribe..."

A thin gash on his cheek oozed sluggishly, insult to injury of the assault. Glaring with defiance he hadn't known he possessed, Kiro's orange eyes burnt into the predatory irises of the Duelist Captain.

“A scribe whose hands are stained with blood, a scribe bereft of self-admittance.” Kyuketsu lowered his blade, knowingly exposing himself for an attack. “I don’t give a fuck what you are. Scholar, spy, assassin, or chronicler. You are, for all intents and purposes, a shinigami above all else.”

Tenzansatsu, though tamed even for just a short while, still screamed carnivorously. Its spiraling intent bled from its gleaming, now-molten steel, seeping all over as if becoming one with the land. The captain strode back, one step... two steps... three steps. Kiro was set free from the raptor’s shadow, given a shred of solace from the sweltering hell that pulsed from within the Duelist.

“History repeats itself, Shenrai. Kings become tyrants, men become gods. Death and rebirth reiterate themselves in an endless cycle til nothing in existence is left. Your fears will return, your despairs will resurface. All that which binds you will bite back one way or another. You believe that merely because you survived one ordeal, you will never experience it again? Don’t bullshit yourself.

These terrors of yours, these ‘scars,’ they’ll come back. You will never advance, never go past where you are should you remain frightened and petrified by reality. To continue down that road would lead only to stagnation, and nothing else. So I ask you, Kiro of Shenrai, what are you so afraid of?”

Sweat beaded and rolled down his face and neck, his eyelids heavy but his mind racing with pain and memory. Memory of a place far from the arid grounds of the Eleventh, far from the cracked ground and scorched earth.

"Fear..." He echoed back, his words slow in the haze of his mind. He continued to heave breaths in, the dry air burning in his lungs. "I fear... only that... which we all possess...

"I fear hunger." A slow blink came from the Spy, his form twitching and contorting with effort. His eyes, still defiant, matched a growing strength in his voice. "Eat too much, and you choke. Eat too little, and you starve. That's what they taught me... what they taught me in the Rukongai."

Forcing himself to a knee, he dug his wakizashi point-first into the ground, supporting himself on it. His words continued to be defiant. "What do I fear?"

A flash of energy, coursing above his head. An endless roar of rage and desperation and fear that went on and on and on. The alabaster sands stained crimson, shards of ivory biting into his knuckles as the crisp scent of ozone wafted through every ragged breath he took.​

"I fear that I'm no better than what we hunt." Kiro answered plainly, managing to force himself onto his feet. "That everything I've ever done will make me no better than a hollow, swallowed up in hunger. That the ends can't justify the means."

His eyes narrowed, the bleeding of his wounds quickly slowing as his weathered form fought to stabilize itself. The primordial reiryoku of Reiki coursed through him, the gash along his cheek quickly turning into a thin mark, the wound clotting.

"You know what though?" He mused, breathing out a ragged cough as his voice regained its former bluster and confidence. "I think I'm rather hungry today."

He moved in a flash, the soft sounds of the technique lost amidst the whistling of a blade cutting through air. A moment later, he had appeared a short distance behind the Captain, the bared steel of his blade the only hint of his Senka remaining.

A sporadic, alien spark wriggled and crawled under his skin. The sensation emanating with fierce repugnance was not Kyuketsu’s alone, but that of Kiro’s as well. It seemed, that after all the captain’s poking and prodding, he at last managed to breach through. Though haphazard and running amok, the presence which he spoke of so fondly was finally swirling steadily around the scribe. The truth that Kiro hid from himself, the harsh revelation that he refused to accept—to tackle those self-evident realities was the first step for him in order to wear the mantle of a sword demon.

The scribe’s speed was by no means that of an amateur’s. His senka alone matched the prowess of Kyuketsu’s own, giving it a far lethal edge had the execution been perfect. The blow came within a hair’s width, slicing into the Duelist captain’s flesh by a mere millimeter before inevitably eliciting a reaction. Churning a heel against the parched dirt, the raptor jerked back, bracing himself away from the rest of the invading blade.

“Eat too much and choke, huh?” Half a smirk once again slithered its way over his features, as a small line of crimson formed by his cheek. “Ohoho, I know exactly what you mean. But ask yourself... will that truly stop you? We are brutish, carnivorous beasts, and should all inhibitions be severed, our instincts will scream at us relentlessly to keep devouring until there’s nothing left. It doesn’t matter if we’re full or if we’re gagging and gasping for air... so long as there’s something, we’ll always seek out everything.

I’ve asked myself that very same question hundreds and thousands of times... if we... if I am no different than the creatures we hunt down and purify. And the answer, my dear Shenrai, is a simple, straightforward no. Fiends like you and I are on a class of our own, separate and unique from the bestial existence of Hollows. I know what makes me distinct... but do you?”

He dove back in, swooping down on Kiro with a paired cascade of Tenzansatsu’s reach.

The motions before had been supreme, untouchable. Every inch of Kiro's mind had screamed the impossible at him before it could even begin to comprehend the actions the Captain took.

He felt his body move, hands snapping his blade upwards to catch the first blow. Just as quickly, it sunk into his flesh in another two, before he battered the blade away on its fourth reprisal.

Kiro staggered back, a pair of fresh wounds dotted along his arm and stomach. His words bit through the dry air that continued to choke in his lungs. "Isn't that... the crux... of it all?"

The pain had focused to a laser point, agony and rancor dancing on the tip of a needle as the scribe snapped forward in his own vicious assault. As the Captain batted the blade of Sabigyoushou away with a slight more effort than he had once dedicated, Kiro's panting, breathless words were ground from between his teeth.

"If we have," He gasped, blade coming across horizontally to smash near the base of Tenzansatsu, "something to consume... we will!"

Feinting back, the Spy lashed out with a brief lunge, the Duelist twisting around to bring another thin gash down Kiro's side. Ignoring it, he continued to force words out. "But... but isn't the whole idea... to use those inhibitions?"

Gripping his wakizashi with both hands, he felt his feet bite into the cracked ground beneath as a brutal strike from the Captain sent him skidding back. "Limits... are meant... to be pushed! Not broken! You don't snap a blade to test its strength!"

In another rush of movement, he had repeated his actions. A blur that saw him emerge behind Kyuketsu, twin strikes flashing against either side of the Captain.

“Semantics, semantics.” The captain merely stood in place, jeering away as Kiro’s blade dug into his flesh. “But if that’s how you wish to play it, then let’s have at it.”

A twitch of pain panged through Kyuketsu’s face, if ever so briefly. Dampening his cloth was a wash of bloodcurdling crimson, staining the backdrop of ebony. His head pivoted halfway back, glancing with empty, abysmal eyes at the scribe from the Second.

“If a blade falls short its limits and snaps, then why cry over spilled milk? You learn and understand its limits... then cast it aside, discard it and move on. You look for something better, stronger, more resilient than the last. Limits are indeed meant to be broken.” A fleeting pause came past the captain. “Destroyed, obliterated, and wrestled into submission. That in itself plays into the hunger of man, consuming swords whole and spitting out what is left, seizing only the next.”

The blood crawled down Kyuketsu’s arms, writhing down in a thunderclap of red. With ironic sadism merging into wordplay, the captain whispered, noting at his wounds, “...It’s almost like I was cut with a blunted edge.”

He quickly spun, whipping both fangs in a horizontal sweep to lash out at the scribe in a simple, though brutal flourish.

The twin blades cut deep into the scribe's chest, but something primal had gripped the man. The Hakuda practitioner hardly budged as fresh blood spewed from the wounds, eyes wide in anger and voice gravelly with pain and the dry air he sucked in greedily.

"Then you're wrong." He grit his teeth, a snarl wrenching across his face. "We are not blades to be snapped. We are to be sharpened. Pushed to our utmost, until the very cracks of our vulnerability are bared to the world. Not snapped and thrown away so callously, like discarded tools!”

Energy compacted against his form, a downright feral look seizing across Kiro's face. The blade that once dug into his flesh stopped very suddenly, and in a flash the Spy had gripped it firmly in his off-hand. Wrenching it up and stepping inside Kyuketsu's guard, his wakizashi shot forward to run the Captain through the stomach.

"The only blades that break... are the ones that let themselves be broken." He stated, chest heaving with exertion, but eyes clear and blazing with inner fire.

“How optimistic you are, my dear scribe.” A small hint of amusement crept over the captain. “But where is the realism? The cynicism? The grim verity that molds and controls the world?”

His second blade spiral sideways, swatting away the approaching blow with pronounced vigor. The talon tightly grasped by Kiro twisted and churned, grinding against whatever protective tactic employed by the spy. “And that in itself begets yet another bigger question. These comparisons and metaphors you speak of. It seems to me that you’ve chosen to merely be the weapon... and not the wielder. Curious...”

From underneath the captain’s uniform dawned a silver glimmer, shining and fading in a heartbeat. Amidst the dust marooned by the luster came a phantom of light, pouncing forward as one of its monstrous claws seized and clutched Kiro’s bladed hand.

Kyuketsu readjusted Tenzansatsu’s alignment, positioning the free blade’s tip just inches from the saboteur’s jugular.

“But regardless of your ideologies, all I asked is that you harbored one and presented it before me,” he said, eyes falling down on the man. “...And that you carry your movements based on that belief, so as your intent and presence would resonate through your blade. It appears you’ve done just that.”

[COL=#c00000][/COLOR]The captain yielded suddenly, pulling back his swords away from the spy. Glancing quickly at Kiro’s feet and hands, Kyuketsu gestured with a nod.

“So now we can actually begin,” he said, shrugging. “Your stance is awkward. Fix it. Your handle is loose and stiff. Do something about it.”

The adrenaline of battle had begun to fade with the Captain's sudden restraint. Dropping down from the balls of his feet, he swayed suddenly - fresh pain erupting from the various wounds.

He hissed under his breath, vision swimming. Blinking to try and clear the sensation, Kiro could only hear the resigned sigh of the Captain before his sight went a dull silver... and then black.