[ Maybe if they kill it, everything else around them will collapse. Maybe the stillness is a good sign. That it's weakening, that it's near death, a rigor mortis before everything else will wilt away, let them out, free them with no further harm done — not to mention the fact that this thing deserves to die.
Amos is so focused on the task at hand — kill this thing to save his friends — that he doesn't notice anything else. He doesn't notice the way Kaeya has gone impossibly still; he doesn't hear Gen or Misa, doesn't feel their distress, doesn't see the way they've turned to each other for safety. That should be him, but his way of protection has trended towards the path of violence more often than not. Eliminate the threat, and then everyone else will be okay—
He doesn't notice the vines until they're wrapped around his wrists, pressing against his skin and wrenching him away from his onslaught. He loses the knife at some point as he's dragged back against a wall, fighting futilely all the while. He pulls and strains at his binds with every ounce of strength he has, a wild, thrashing animal as panic seeps into every fibre of his being.
He's helpless, he realizes, and a sharp, terrified shout escapes from his throat as his thrashing grows more erratic, more desperate, nonononononononoNoNoNONONO—
The world around him sinks into something he doesn't recognize — a gaping maw of fear that takes over every one of his senses and renders even those in this room that he loves to nothingness — as he continues to desperately, desperately try to free himself. ]
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Amos is so focused on the task at hand — kill this thing to save his friends — that he doesn't notice anything else. He doesn't notice the way Kaeya has gone impossibly still; he doesn't hear Gen or Misa, doesn't feel their distress, doesn't see the way they've turned to each other for safety. That should be him, but his way of protection has trended towards the path of violence more often than not. Eliminate the threat, and then everyone else will be okay—
He doesn't notice the vines until they're wrapped around his wrists, pressing against his skin and wrenching him away from his onslaught. He loses the knife at some point as he's dragged back against a wall, fighting futilely all the while. He pulls and strains at his binds with every ounce of strength he has, a wild, thrashing animal as panic seeps into every fibre of his being.
He's helpless, he realizes, and a sharp, terrified shout escapes from his throat as his thrashing grows more erratic, more desperate, nonononononononoNoNoNONONO—
The world around him sinks into something he doesn't recognize — a gaping maw of fear that takes over every one of his senses and renders even those in this room that he loves to nothingness — as he continues to desperately, desperately try to free himself. ]