[Vander forces himself to grit his teeth against the surge of pain as the thing presses further in its assault with the roots, adrenaline and discipline allowing him to keep his focus on his swing. It’s not until his fist collides with an unseen force that he recalls the way Childe’s arrow had practically frozen in its path just before striking true. But there’s no time to contemplate whether he’s made a mistake.
The memories come just as sudden as the swing of his fist, familiar and unfamiliar all the same. The pounding rhythm of feet on the ground matching the fear-tinged and frantic heartbeat propelling them forward. It is something so primal and unforgettable, and it’s magnified in triplicate here in this moment of memories overlapped.
His mind is reeling by the time he registers the explosion itself. His arm, his shoulder, his leg—everything is alight with pain as the force of the fiery blast sends him rocking back. He doesn’t know whether the roots digging into his limbs go down with him or if they’re viciously torn free, but he does know that it hurts like hell regardless. An agonized shout escapes him as he hits the ground with a thud, his whole body aching and the nerves in his hand in particular screaming as the warped and heated metal of his gauntlet presses into it—
—and for the brief flash of a moment, another memory slides to the surface, the last he has of his time in his own world. One of standing bruised and bloody in the cannery, of a sudden series of explosions rocking the building, of pain, of worry as he drags himself up off the ground to try to see if the kids were alright—
—He groans, tries to push himself to his side to see if he can get a glimpse of Childe here in the aftermath.]
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The memories come just as sudden as the swing of his fist, familiar and unfamiliar all the same. The pounding rhythm of feet on the ground matching the fear-tinged and frantic heartbeat propelling them forward. It is something so primal and unforgettable, and it’s magnified in triplicate here in this moment of memories overlapped.
His mind is reeling by the time he registers the explosion itself. His arm, his shoulder, his leg—everything is alight with pain as the force of the fiery blast sends him rocking back. He doesn’t know whether the roots digging into his limbs go down with him or if they’re viciously torn free, but he does know that it hurts like hell regardless. An agonized shout escapes him as he hits the ground with a thud, his whole body aching and the nerves in his hand in particular screaming as the warped and heated metal of his gauntlet presses into it—
—and for the brief flash of a moment, another memory slides to the surface, the last he has of his time in his own world. One of standing bruised and bloody in the cannery, of a sudden series of explosions rocking the building, of pain, of worry as he drags himself up off the ground to try to see if the kids were alright—
—He groans, tries to push himself to his side to see if he can get a glimpse of Childe here in the aftermath.]