They ran.
The tunnel blurred around them as they tore through it at full speed, boots hammering, air screaming past. The walls buckled as they went—not collapsing—but reacting.
Vines ripped free without warning.
Thick cords tore out of stone and flesh alike, snapping forward in whipping arcs, trying to coil, to drag, to slow them down.
Don hit first.
He moved like a blur, flashing past the first strike so fast the vine didn't even finish extending before it came apart in his wake.
His shoulder clipped another, the force shearing it clean through. A third wrapped for his leg and was ripped loose, fibers snapping as he tore onward without breaking stride.
Starboy followed, just as brutal.
Anything that reached for him detonated on contact, blasted apart by raw force as he passed through. The tunnel shook with every step he took, pressure waves slamming vines back into the walls, leaving nothing behind but shredded growth and dust.
Pyro brought up the rear.
