Instinct and shock was enough to stop the chanting as Sanzo gulped for air instead, the awful pressure in his chest lessened greatly. It was for the best. The Maten sutra, could, at best, give Drake a nasty paper cut in its current state. It wiggled away menacing enough but went right back to being harmless as Sanzo’s vision spun, the blue tint to his lips starting to fade.

Somewhere in the fog of confusion that clogged Sanzo’s mind currently, he registered the use of his name again. And even naming his attack. How would this fucker even know that unless he’d personally seen it in action? Sanzo wanted nothing to do with this asshole that was currently saving his life, but he sure as hell wanted to know why he knew so much!

Yet he was still helpless, much to his frustration and distress. With what bit of strength he could muster from sheer orneriness, he spat blood in the vague direction of Drake. Too drained himself, he couldn’t tell how much this was taking out of Drake, only barely aware he was being healed with magic at all. Not that that was uncommon for him.

“The hell-” Wheeze. “-do you-” A desperate gasp for air. “-think you are?” Dying on the ground after a several story fall, Sanzo was as much of a prideful, defensive asshole as ever.