El Draco.

Blankson streaked through the chaotic streets, his armor glinting ominously under the harsh sunlight. The bone-white mask covering his face contrasted sharply with the eerie glow of his blue eyes and the strands of blonde hair peeking from beneath his helmet. Razor-sharp wind blades spun in vicious, blurry circles around him, distorting his outline like a phantom wrapped in a cyclone of death.

Blood and severed limbs littered his path, painting a grotesque tapestry of carnage as he carved through the masses without pause. Ahead, people with fear-stricken faces stumbled and screamed, desperate to escape the whirlwind of slaughter bearing down on them. Affinities flared, artifacts activated in frantic defense—but it was futile. Against an Expert-level Wind Mage of the Blade clan, resistance was nothing more than a delay in the inevitable.