Cyrus exhaled an aggravated breath as Pantea strolled right into the thick of things without so much as voicing a strategy or giving him any forewarning.  He took a moment to mumble under his breath.  "You<strong>know</strong>this isn't going to end well."  With his obligatory moment of brooding over the situation over, he moved to keep pace at Pantea's flank.  The magus did his best to give an air of confidence about his stride, walking as though he owned the place and only a damned fool would step in their way.  As his partner voiced her bluff, Cyrus maintained his own facade while keeping a firm grip on the hilt of Lasciel.  Just in case his pessimistic viewpoint transitioned to foreshadowing.<br/><br/>Sure enough, his premonition was entirely accurate if not underestimating of the magnitude of just how badly things would go.<br/><br/>"Oh... Well fuck me..."  Was all he managed to say when he noticed the heavy gate begin to rise.  Cyrus' tone wasn't that of fear, terror, or anger, rather it was accepting while somehow conveying a subliminal message of 'I told you so.'  At which point, all hell broke loose as he found himself struggling to keep his footing as a literal tsunami of feline bodies hammered towards the gate.  He knew that if he lost his footing, he would be as good as dead as a legion of catgirls trampled him to death.  Cyrus cursed and yelled with frustration as he ran with the tide rather than the suicidal attempt to resist it.  All the while Lasciel kept alert for what was coming behind him, warning him if a sudden surge was coming that would potentially throw him off balance.  It was no token gesture that among a proverbial sea of mostly nude kittygirls, the entity of desire's focus was upon keeping her host alive rather than slinging around suggestive temptations.  Only once they cleared the gate did the pressure let up and Cyrus was once again able to control which way he moved through the throng.  Attempting to move out of the tide, he pressed his way towards the city walls in hopes of using it as a storm shelter.  He had nearly made it when his balance finally gave out on him as he tripped over either debris or a person, he couldn't tell which, and tumbled to the ground, immediately tucking himself into a ball and covered his head with his arms.  Fortunately he was far enough away from the thick of things that only a handful of feline feet kicked or stepped on him.  Moments later, the stampede passed and the wary magus pulled himself to his feet.  Apart from having the wind knocked out of him and some slight disorientation, he was just fine.<br/><br/>Groaning in equal parts exhaustion and displeasure, Cyrus moved with labored step towards those who remained standing to see whom from his party managed to make it out of that chaos in one piece.