Speed was not the touchstone of Raidou's abilities. Strength, determination, the ability to get up after the twelfth hit and lash out with a skull-cracker of his own--but not speed. He had enough flash to keep up with the average jounin, and enough willpower to run long after quicker, brighter kids had fallen, but the lightning-slick reflexes of ninjutsu warriors was generally beyond him.

When Genma fell, broken hand jerking out to catch himself, Raidou could have matched the Yondaime on his very best day. He lunged forwards, one knee smacking down on unforgiving concrete, and twisted to throw his arm across Genma's chest, avoiding both blood-streaked hands. Genma crashed into him, full weight wrenching on Raidou's shoulder, and yanked a scream from both of them.

But Raidou would have rather stepped up and spread his arms for Sago's rake again than see that twisted, mangled wreck of flesh and bone strike the floor. He locked his muscles, threw everything he had into not falling, and yanked Genma against his chest before so much as a fingertip brushed concrete.

"Son of a--"

Genma's left shoulder slammed hard into peeling bandages. The firestorm of pain that scorched through Raidou's burned, blistered skin was almost enough to cure the will to live. Fingers tightened. Eyes squeezed shut. Breath went away.

He didn't let go.