[ Magic hasn't been on Amos' mind in a long time. He'd picked up a little bit some months ago, all through his own development as an Aion apparently; it has since stalled out. But physically fighting, being a frontline kind of guy — that he knows, and that he's only seemed to get better at, so that's where all of his focus lies.

Which, in addition to the everything else of the past week, he's now being forced to reckon with how little it's helping him. And that's frustrating. When he gets back to Achamoth — hopefully with this guy in tow — he'll probably have to get back at it.

In the meantime, Amos slams right into that magical barrier. The blunt impact offers a dulled sort of pain as he skids back, is left glaring at Syrlya. He spreads his arms wide in frustration as he moves further away; this cat and mouse bullshit is going nowhere fast, but it's not like he can just let the guy go.

There's a reason Syrlya is doing this then, too. One that's a complete mystery to Amos. ]

Nobody'd blink twice if you were a Kenoma Aion back in Achamoth. You want to do this running and hiding bullshit, you got nobody to blame but yourself. [ He projects his voice so that Syrlya can hear him, advancing towards him more cautiously this time as he does so. He's just going to tire himself out if he charges in, so... time to see what this'll yield. ]