Thugs armed with melee weapons hesitated to close in, wary of the swirling water that Cyrus wielded like an extension of his will. The narrow confines of the corridor limited their ability to maneuver, giving Cyrus the upper hand in dictating the pace of the confrontation.
With each swing of his machete and manipulation of water, Cyrus carved a path through the line of thugs. The rhythmic dance of combat unfolded in the confined space, with Cyrus fluidly transitioning between martial prowess and elemental mastery.
The air crackled with the energy of the clash, the dimly lit corridor witnessing the ebb and flow of the confrontation. Cyrus, a force to be reckoned with, pressed forward with calculated aggression, his machete cleaving through resistance while water responded to his command.
