He'd expected his sword to collide against the strong, solid force behind all of Dias' moves. Instead, the glint of his rival's sword caught beneath the sunlight as it--was thrown through the away from them? Claude had no time to even understand what that truly meant. At that precise moment, his own blade cut through thin air, and fueled by the momentum behind the swing, suddenly tore through Dias' clothes, piercing his flesh.
A chill ran down his spine, and Claude's body grew unnaturally still and cold once he saw a glimpse of the crimson blood seeping from fresh the wound. At first he wanted to tell himself that the injury wasn't as fatal as it looked -- wanted to believe it with all his heart, despite the fact that the experienced fighter in him knew better. But his heart leaped into his throat once Dias collapsed to floor, almost like a doll that had been abruptly knocked off its stand. Before he even realized it, Claude's hands had let go of his sword, allowing it to clatter to the ground. He felt his body dart forward, though he may as well have been drifting through some sort of dream due to the sheer unbelievability of the sight before him.
"Dias!" The gasp tore from his throat as he dropped to his knees. Fingers grasping onto the front of the man's cloak, he tried to haul him up to where he was at least sitting, to where he wouldn't bear a horrifyingly close resemblance to so many of the enemies he'd vanquished on the battlefield before. As he did so, one of his hands pressed against Dias' broad back in order to give him a little more support.
Claude took a moment to gaze over the wounds, and his stomach turned at the sight of the red stain that seemed to gush more blood with every beat of the man's heart. "What the hell were you thinking?!" As if to punctuate his words, he gave Dias a rough shake. "Why'd you ditch your sword like that?! You could have blocked me!" He was probably screaming, Claude dimly realized as he stared hard into his rival's face, but he didn't give a damn.
Re: Coliseum Floor - South
A chill ran down his spine, and Claude's body grew unnaturally still and cold once he saw a glimpse of the crimson blood seeping from fresh the wound. At first he wanted to tell himself that the injury wasn't as fatal as it looked -- wanted to believe it with all his heart, despite the fact that the experienced fighter in him knew better. But his heart leaped into his throat once Dias collapsed to floor, almost like a doll that had been abruptly knocked off its stand. Before he even realized it, Claude's hands had let go of his sword, allowing it to clatter to the ground. He felt his body dart forward, though he may as well have been drifting through some sort of dream due to the sheer unbelievability of the sight before him.
"Dias!" The gasp tore from his throat as he dropped to his knees. Fingers grasping onto the front of the man's cloak, he tried to haul him up to where he was at least sitting, to where he wouldn't bear a horrifyingly close resemblance to so many of the enemies he'd vanquished on the battlefield before. As he did so, one of his hands pressed against Dias' broad back in order to give him a little more support.
Claude took a moment to gaze over the wounds, and his stomach turned at the sight of the red stain that seemed to gush more blood with every beat of the man's heart. "What the hell were you thinking?!" As if to punctuate his words, he gave Dias a rough shake. "Why'd you ditch your sword like that?! You could have blocked me!" He was probably screaming, Claude dimly realized as he stared hard into his rival's face, but he didn't give a damn.