Bullets and explosives. This is exactly what Claude had feared when he'd heard of the technological advances of warfare in others' worlds, where you could kill someone as swiftly as the click of a button, impersonal and unfair and deadly, so different from bows and arrows, swords and shields, the state of what true battle looks like. He moves as quickly as he can, flinging himself over Minato in a crash of limbs, sending them both sailing towards the ground -- with the bullets just managing to skate across Claude's back with a rip of fabric, blood rapidly beginning to soak into his fine linen shirt.
Adrenaline is pumping through his veins with too much immediacy for him to register the pain. Instead he twists, back muscles working despite it - treating Minato to an unfortunately gruesome sight, flesh torn asunder by the speed of the bullet - and hauls Minato to his feet, hurriedly pushing him behind him now that he knows where the gunfire is coming from. With a thrust of one arm, a gust of wind sweeps through the Apothecary, sending the contents of the shelves crashing to the floor and the smoke clearing enough for him to see the aggressor.
[ He bounces backwards, unleashing another few arrows, barbed and poisoned this time, hoping to at least slow the other man down long enough for -- for --
(There is a part of him that realizes that in a battle of guns against archery, he cannot, will not win. But nor can he turn tail and run. Not with Minato here.) ]
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Bullets and explosives. This is exactly what Claude had feared when he'd heard of the technological advances of warfare in others' worlds, where you could kill someone as swiftly as the click of a button, impersonal and unfair and deadly, so different from bows and arrows, swords and shields, the state of what true battle looks like. He moves as quickly as he can, flinging himself over Minato in a crash of limbs, sending them both sailing towards the ground -- with the bullets just managing to skate across Claude's back with a rip of fabric, blood rapidly beginning to soak into his fine linen shirt.
Adrenaline is pumping through his veins with too much immediacy for him to register the pain. Instead he twists, back muscles working despite it - treating Minato to an unfortunately gruesome sight, flesh torn asunder by the speed of the bullet - and hauls Minato to his feet, hurriedly pushing him behind him now that he knows where the gunfire is coming from. With a thrust of one arm, a gust of wind sweeps through the Apothecary, sending the contents of the shelves crashing to the floor and the smoke clearing enough for him to see the aggressor.
It's not who he expected. ]
Miller?! [ Fuck. ] Minato, run, now! I've got this!
[ He bounces backwards, unleashing another few arrows, barbed and poisoned this time, hoping to at least slow the other man down long enough for -- for --
(There is a part of him that realizes that in a battle of guns against archery, he cannot, will not win. But nor can he turn tail and run. Not with Minato here.) ]