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The night itself exhales
two words … 𝑯𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔.
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—— fired like a battering ram, shoulder pitched over his hip, with the full twist of his waist behind it. Knuckles plunged against Starrk’s jawline, connecting beneath the hinge and traveling through muscle and nerve with a jarring crack. Force didn’t stop at the surface, it transferred through ——
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—— escape — it was a strike disguised as movement, and Grimmjow reemerged with velocity already bleeding from his limbs. By the time it echoed he ceased existing anywhere else but behind his enemy’s jaw.
As his right arm tore through the pocket of distance that once separated them ——
—— shifting Starrk’s skull and compromising his neck alignment on contact.
Another step chased behind it, twisting upon the pivot of his left foot, his torso, hips, and right leg moved in unified tandem. Centrifugal force coursed through his structure as the right leg ——