The bullet wounds were bleeding out but it hadn't been enough to distract him, much less dull his reaction time. Takasugi suddenly lurched forward. There wasn't any time to react: he was suddenly hit with the full brunt of the patient's weight.

Sanzo hit the ground with Takasugi on top of him. The fall'd jostled the knife wound, knocked the breath out of him. It was only instinct that kept his hands right around the knife. Takasugi's hands were straining, fingers digging deep into his wrists to keep them at a distance.

He tried to ignore the sparks swimming across his vision, or how leaden his limbs felt, how much everything fucking hurt. He needed to focus on finishing this off, now. Sanzo's wrists shook, as he tried to break the grip.

There wasn't anyway he was going to pull a throw off. The monk went the other route. He tried driving a knee up into the bullet wound.