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Summary
He was drenched by the heavy, freezing rain outside, an unusual weather for Snezhnaya, almost more perilous than the snow. Yet he carried himself as if the water dripping from his elaborate Inazuman robes and indigo hair wasn't even of notice to him.
"You're Il Dottore."
His voice was stern and cold, it had a sense of authority over it, as if he was the type who deemed himself above those around him. And as much as the doctor felt distaste for that sort of mannerism, he was far too captivated by what he was witnessing before him to mind.
"They said you'd unseal my powers."
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The study of enhanced humans, what makes a God, can only go so far past mere theory without the proper test subjects. So when a living, breathing vessel of the divine enters his office, it can be considered nothing short of a miracle that men of science only dream of witnessing.