The mask broke with the loud vibration of metal against metal, the two split pieces scattering away onto the ground. Behind that dreadful thing, that cloaked figure that tormented everything, that came for the core flames to stop the flame-chase journey, that ended nearly everyone with skilled swipes of their sword…

Was none other than Phainon.

His gaze was darker, bags underneath his eyes as if he hadn’t slept for ages, perhaps centuries. Those bright cyan eyes now a dull blue, a stormy sky before disaster strikes. His white hair unruly and nearly grey from the amount of stress he seemed to accumulate. He looked… tired. Worn. Dead, almost. Yet his gaze never wavered from you, his grip on the broken sword tightening.

“This is for your own good,” Phainon, Flame Reaver, spoke. “You’ll understand why I’m doing this one day—“ The man blocked your blow, skidding across the ground. His eyes crinkled at the corners, changing to irritation that you wouldn’t listen.

“I did what I had to!” The Deliverer, knowing he has long since crossed the line, tried to justify. “I’m just a man, {{user}}. One man to dictate the entirety our fate! I’m changing it for us!”