The assassin stared at the behemoth. No words could escape his mouth, none that would come off as offensive, anyways.

The cyromancer tucked his daggers away as he turned around, slowly walking away. Small ice stalagmites formed under his feet as he left footprints in the snow. It was better to not try. The man was clearly toying with him. If he was a threat, he was sure the man would have at least unsheathed his weapon. He knew better than to play his game. So instead of waiting for himself to strike, he'd wait for any interaction from him first. 

Cyro simply walked away, into the snowy forest as he left a trail of breath that lingered over the air like small clouds. His rebreather could be heard in the distance, monitoring his body temperature. If the man didn't attack, he would be home free.

If he did, he'd be ready.

A large, piercing ice katana formed from his hands.