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. He leaned forward and chose the very platform that his opponent had just abandoned as his new home. 

In a white and crimson streak, he darted to the platform, his leap having a much lower arc than Fuchsia's; while the demon chose to gain altitude and descend from above, Tomaru put the majority of his energy into forward velocity, only putting just enough upward force in the jump to prevent gravity from pulling him below his mark. It was a smooth line of motion that put him below Fuchsia and well outside of the impending spell's trajectory. As soon as the fascist fuehrer's furious face emerged from the gaping jaws of the hellzooka, Tomaru was mid-leap. His ears twitched at the simply charming sound coming from the club, but by the time Rocket Hitler hit the vacant spot where Tomaru once stood, the kitsune was already on the other platform, waiting in his Hebi stance to see what his opponent -- and Hitler -- would do.