John had soothed his injuries with the magic that lived in him, from his mother's side. He couldn't do much without the full use of his hands, but he was able to stop the bleeding and at least try and expedite the healing process.

The magic in him seemed to curl around the white hot rage, at the center though, there was something else there. But it was mostly rage. His unyielding rage at his situation. At the god that brought him here.

He barely noticed when things started to tremble.