As the flames disperse, Estinien would usually be prepared to leap away as quickly as he arrived. Dragoons were agile fighters, and mobility was key, which means that no matter how much armor he might have, he knows the benefits of staying on the move. This means when his landing is disrupted by the ground seemingly falling out beneath him, he is caught off guard by the sudden need to reorientate. It doesn't help that Makoto has seemingly just disappeared, the weight on his back gone as his aching wings are left to unfurl in a space far too small for them.

He doesn't know what Gen's aim is. Is this a trap? Above him, he catches a flicker of Makoto in his peripheral, now glowing with a light that is painfully familiar. Wings?

His own wings are struggling, colliding with the walls of the hole, his tail lashing and kicking up debris. He doesn't know what his opponent's endgame is, but he does know they are now in very close quarters. Wherever this was going, he can only foresee it being looked back upon as a mistake.

Without leaving Gen with more time to think, Estinien goes all in. His taloned feet, a clawed hand, his tail, his wings, even the horns on his head - he uses the closed space to corner Gen with them, lashing out with every sharp edge at his disposal. The only advantage that remains unused is the fist that clenches Kaeya's shard, nearly forgotten about in the struggle.

He punctuates it all with a belch of flame, heat coursing through the scales of his neck and erupting past his snarling fangs.