Stark surveyed the fight. The blasts, the ceros, the Ryoka ... he was surprised at the magnitude of his attack. He had expected them to be powerful, but that went beyond his expectations, especially because he'd heard he was the nerdy one, or something. He also doubted, for some odd reason, that it as all he was capable of.

He shrugged, ruffling the hair at the back of his head.

This wasn't going well.

The Wyrm was brushing too much off, gaining too much ground. Even Grimmjow was playing the avoidance game rather than enjoying the fight. Nnoitra, he saw, had gone on the defensive. He had been concerned that he'd wade in, like a total idiot, and try smacking it. Apparently not.

If this carried on, even he was going to have to release. That wouldn't be fun for the rest of them, not when half of the ones in the palace hall were gasping from the dragon's reiatsu.

Damn it.

He held out a hand and fired a small volley of Ceros, aiming to hold it back while Halibel charged her attack. No point standing idle, much as he'd like to.