Nemesis pauses, and time seems to stop in that instant, frame frozen as Cloud stares at Wulfgar, makou-tainted eyes wide, caught somewhere between surprise and resignation.
Oh..
Pain shoots up his wrist from the sudden cank of his hand, fingers loosening convulsively, the familiar and safe feel of the hilt of his sword vanishing. Sound of it, heavy crash against the floor, blade scraping as it slides away. Out of reach.
Another pain, this time much more intimate, something Cloud, in a different moment, would view as shame. The sing of honed blade, percise, parting his flesh like water. God's hands.. Cloud thinks vaguely, as a spray of crimson splatters the floor from the wound, a large line of carmine appearing across his chest. And somewhere in his head, Zack is screaming.
Cloud crosses his arms infront of himself, belatedly, in a block. Recieves another razour laceration, two long lines, of one long one carried over both forearms, spreading blood that streams down onto his elbows.
The air leaves his lungs next, forced out with a hurl, and it snaps Cloud out of his daze. He reacts, then, even as he gapes, mouth wide and gasping for breath; it feels as if the air has been sucked out of the room, his daiphram spasming. He is feeble, moving to block the second blow to his face with his -now free- sword hand. Winces as the clench of muscle in his tense stance sends a jolt of pain through his body. Midsection weeping blood. He slides back a few inches from the force of the blow, but Cloud's focus is on Wulfgar's own, who's settling once more upon Kujaku. No, Cloud growls, but he can't quite tell if his voice reaches beyond his own ears. Clenches his jaw around the burn of pain as he grabs for whatever he can, before Wulfgar can disappear, out of reach. Ends up with a handful of streaming white tresses.
"You won't hurt him," Cloud says, while he yanks forecfully, aiming a knee into Wulfgar's back.
And the materia glows, blazing as Cloud calls down a short spell of ice that fits, weighted slabs of catching claws, around Wulfgar's feet. Then bolt, the air crackling with the intensity, raising the hairs upon Cloud's own neck. Split of miniature thunder before the streak of jagged blaze strikes down, splaying into three separate tendrils that hit within feet of the main bolt aimed for Wulfgar's snow-white head, and Cloud jumps back at the last second before it hits, boots sliding across smooth black of the floor, doubled over and bracing himself with one splayed hand, his other arm wrapped tight about his midsection. Makou-tainted blue then flit to the sight of his sword, and Cloud rushes to it, on staggering legs that feel too light to carry his body; he fights not to fall to his knees as he grabs the hilt, picking his weapon back up with a grimace, face tight in the rictus of pain as more blood pours steadily from his wounds. He begins to activate his Cure Materia, soft waves of green-yellow energy light washing across the floor, flowing outward in small circles, ripples. Cloud at the epicenter.