The mist then rose up and wrapped around him, growing thicker and drier. Spike struggled, waving the mist away with his claws until it solidified to the point that he had to actually tear at them. However, he found his movement quickly restricted, the mist binding close to him like a body of vines constricting him and blinding him as it covered his face and closed over his snout. Everything seemed to stop for the longest time; no sound, no feeling, neither hot nor cold—he couldn’t even breathe but found he had no need to. This did nothing to ease his growing panic.