As the musclebound brute made his unwanted presence present, a purple flash and the sound of thunder emanated from above a skyscraper opposite the one upon which the metashi-clad warrior stood. Another small figure appeared at the epicenter, floating effortlessly a few feet above the rooftop as the flare of light faded from view. A midnight black robe obscures his body, allowing little to be seen of him beyond his slight build, and the black iron mask he wears allows nothing of his face save the black glows that are his eyes to be seen...and to see in turn. Black iron gauntlets armor the hands at his side, and boots of the same metal cover his feet.

The figure does not appear to bear any sort of weapon, yet he silently radiates an aura of timelessness and power that might be felt even through the background feel of this place that housed the battle it did years ago. The black holes of his eyes seemed to bore through the space separating him from the young warrior, paying no attention to the fool near him. Demons seek many things...some great power, some utter destruction, some challenges of the body or mind, and some simply to obey the whims of their masters. In the case of this one, it was something worthy of his time.

The Timelord of Dol-Tiras had come.