Cyrus stood in the torrent of rain for some time. It helped; it numbed him just enough to think, to ponder on escape options—he had people back on Earth that relied on him, monsters and sentient life forms. It hadn't even been half a day yet, and Cyrus was already on edge. Caged and forced to fight was nothing new to him. He was already on the frontlines; battling internally, resisting the demon essence that had latched onto him, etching itself to every fibre of his being, every nerve, every ounce of flesh. Cyrus steered the gears most of the time, but in dire circumstances, it would naturally come forth to wreak havoc, to defile and drain the life of his victims, stealing their memories, their talents, their power. That would be the last resort if he couldn't punch his way through the foundation of this place. The notion of tearing a hole through space and time seemed intriguing, but he could have easily ended up somewhere much worse.
He crossed his arms before him, fingers hooking beneath the hem of his shirt before he tore it upward, stripping the fabric from his heavily built frame. Muscle rippled and flexed with every movement, his arms so massive they rivaled the size of a man's head. Broad shoulders framed a barrel chest, while his exposed torso bore the history of countless battles—white scar tissue on caramel-tone skin etched into his skin like trophies. Burns streaked across his obliques; claw marks, talon gashes, and bite wounds scarred his arms, shoulders, and hips—each one a reminder of an opponent formidable enough to leave a mark before being conquered.
After several minutes spent cooling off and gathering his thoughts, he lifted a hand toward the sky. The small orb of light came hurtling back into his palm, and the rain ceased at once—as abruptly as a shower shut off midstream. Turning in place, he looked across the yard toward the man who had been speaking to him, now huddled beneath shelter. Water streamed from every inch of his drenched body as he began a slow, deliberate walk forward. As he moved, he casually popped the glowing orb into his mouth and swallowed it whole, absorbing the magic along with a much-needed burst of hydration—a convenient two-for-one deal.
Comforted, calmer, Cyrus stood directly in front of the smaller man. "Two days," he murmured in a whisper, passing a hand through his buzzed hair, spraying the water droplets through the air. "Two days, and I'm out of here. You're welcome to join me, kid—or—you can stay here, to fight and fight until you wither away." He twisted his soaked shirt between his hands, wringing the rainwater out onto the ground between them. "Cyrus." A wet, large hand reached out to officially greet the younger man. He had been nice to him thus far, it only seemed appropriate to exchange pleasantries.
