Tomaru's intense blue eyes were keen on Fuchsia as he soared through the air, watching every nuance of his wretched little body, especially those involving that ornate club. He had no knowledge of guns, or in this case a soul-firing bazooka, but he had plenty of experience dealing with magic users. When a mage pointed a staff, a palm, or even a mildly threatening finger at you, it was time to move. So, when the gaping hole at the base of the club met with Tomaru's equally vacant eyes, the kitsune wasted no time in removing himself from the general vicinity. Fortunately, his weight was already primarily in his legs, so an evasive leap was only a matter of deciding where to go. The fastest solution was to twirl around and dart toward the platform behind him, but that would mean taking his eyes off of his opponent, a mortal sin that all martial artists are indoctrinated to avoid from day one. However, there was far more to this arena than the platforms, and nobody had given him a reason why he needed to stay on them. After all, in one sense they were platforms, but in another sense they were thirty foot stone shields. 

His path of evasion decided, Tomaru took a tiny hop back and slipped down off of the edge of the platform. As he did this, he whipped out his katana, clutching it firmly in his right hand. Before the fascist fuehrer's furious face emerged from the gaping jaws of the hellzooka, Tomaru was slipping out of sight below the platform. Threat of magic or not, Fuchsia was still heading towards the same spot, so there was no need to completely abandon his position. He caught himself on the edge with his left hand and used his blade as a sort of mirror to continue watching Fuchsia. The image was distorted from the contour of the metal and dim due to the surrounding darkness, but although he wasn't able to see exactly what Fuchsia was doing, he was at least able to see where he was... and he had found found a sort of loophole in the mortal sin, so perhaps his master wouldn't reprimand him.