Nnoitra, above almost all else, prided himself on his defensive capability. It wasn't the speed of his block that had given him cause for egotism, but the raw shielding afforded to him by his hierro, or iron skin. It was a trait common to Arrancar and was, in reality, little more than a defensive condensing of their Chakra. Nevertheless, he had honed that to perfection. He was nigh-impossible to cut, even beyond the abilities of other Arrancar. It would take a lot of fighting for an opponent to attune and adapt themselves to his spiritual energy enough to cut through it.
Ordinarily, a sword wouldn't even mark his skin. Ordinarily, Santa Teresa would withstand any blow from a rival sword. Ordinarily, he wouldn't so much as flinch.
This time was ... different.
Kusanagi sliced through the dual tips of Santa Teresa's upper crescent. He felt the slight reduction in weight and an involuntary jerk as the friction of resistance gave out. Shock impaired his reaction speed. Half numb, he pulled himself back and away from Orochimaru and his blade.
He dimly recalled an unpleasant, distant memory as he felt the all-too-familiar sensation of blood running down his face. That hit even before the sting managed to tear through his haze of disbelief. The gash on his face -- a clean cut carved horizontally across the bridge of his nose -- felt hot. The blood, however, quickly turned cold. It dripped from his jaw and chin, staining his clothes. It ran down his lips and between his teeth, teeth that were bared with disbelief and hatred in equal measure.
He touched the new wound with steady fingertips, tracing it to its end on his cheek. He narrowed his eye. Shock gave way to resolve. He began building his reiatsu.
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Nnoitra, above almost all else, prided himself on his defensive capability. It wasn't the speed of his block that had given him cause for egotism, but the raw shielding afforded to him by his hierro, or iron skin. It was a trait common to Arrancar and was, in reality, little more than a defensive condensing of their Chakra. Nevertheless, he had honed that to perfection. He was nigh-impossible to cut, even beyond the abilities of other Arrancar. It would take a lot of fighting for an opponent to attune and adapt themselves to his spiritual energy enough to cut through it.
Ordinarily, a sword wouldn't even mark his skin. Ordinarily, Santa Teresa would withstand any blow from a rival sword. Ordinarily, he wouldn't so much as flinch.
This time was ... different.
Kusanagi sliced through the dual tips of Santa Teresa's upper crescent. He felt the slight reduction in weight and an involuntary jerk as the friction of resistance gave out. Shock impaired his reaction speed. Half numb, he pulled himself back and away from Orochimaru and his blade.
He dimly recalled an unpleasant, distant memory as he felt the all-too-familiar sensation of blood running down his face. That hit even before the sting managed to tear through his haze of disbelief. The gash on his face -- a clean cut carved horizontally across the bridge of his nose -- felt hot. The blood, however, quickly turned cold. It dripped from his jaw and chin, staining his clothes. It ran down his lips and between his teeth, teeth that were bared with disbelief and hatred in equal measure.
He touched the new wound with steady fingertips, tracing it to its end on his cheek. He narrowed his eye. Shock gave way to resolve. He began building his reiatsu.
"We won't fucking lose to you!"
It was time to up the game.