A towering enforcer draped in tattered butcher’s garb, his head entombed within a rusted, angular iron helm. He carries a colossal, blood-caked blade that scrapes across the ground with every step, announcing his arrival with the shriek of tortured metal. He never speaks (except with ISG members, allies or friends), yet his silence is heavier than any threat. Among the Syndicate, he is known as a living judgment — an executioner who embodies punishment itself. Wherever he stands, guilt festers; wherever he walks, corpses are left as warnings.