The swing of his Hellzooka met with the surprisingly sturdy palm of Tomaru's ki-channeled strike. The sheer force of the impact knocking the two combatants away from eachother, and down to the cold, lifeless ground below. His body easily handled the recoil, and Fuchsia was too riled up to be much concerned about anything other than his enemy. Grunting, crimson fluid gushing out from his nose and mouth. Crushing pain from his broken left arm was drowned out by an immense surge of adrenaline. His heart was beating, his blood boiling. He was blacking out. In his eyes, reason and logic was no longer to be found, only pure unhindered killing instinct. Like a cornered fox, he was more dangerous than ever. Ironically, if he had kept his head cool, he would have known that the best course of action would have been to pull back, and let his opponent's leg crumble on it's own, hurling rocket after rocket until one would have made a hit and ended the match. This logic was defeated by his desire to feel Tomaru's face splatter apart under his heel. Up close and personal. 

He landed. Immediately pushing down hard onto the ground with his feet, shooting forward like a blood crazed shark. His enemy would not be allowed a moment to breathe, he would be relentless in his assault, a manic nightmare. In mere moments, the distance between the two was shortened, and his club was quickly swung horizontally from his left with nothing held back. Aiming to hit the swordsman square in the chest. The gargantuan length of his weapon would still hinder potential counter-attacks, but perhaps not as much as it did previously, since movement was no longer an issue.