Too many things were happening at once. Tamaki could hear everything, but it was like it was all coming from far away. Like he was under a bridge, listening to a train somewhere down the tracks - that distant, muted sort of sound. He heard people calling out, he heard Hikaru's muted curse, and he knew that his friends were in trouble.

They were all in trouble.

A pity things didn't seem to be moving in slow motion. Oh no, they were moving all too fast. He clung desperately to the hilt of his sword, so glad he'd asked for a guard. His hand was wrenched against it and the metal dug into his skin, but it helped him keep a grip on the weapon. Even as he felt that slice of claws once more, another gush of blood, he refused to let go of the sword.

Instead, he wrenched it. He twisted it with all of his strength, praying to whatever might be listening that he severed something important.

He really, really didn't want to die.