Saviour

At this moment, the young man faintly smiled towards the group. His voice boomed, clear to be heard by all even under the swirling lightning destruction and chaos. 

"You all... do you hail from the Miraculous Saint Holy Land?"

His voice carried an authority that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of reality. It was neither loud nor imposing, yet it cut through the cacophony of battle with ease, reaching the ears of all present as if whispered directly into their minds.

A protector elder from the Miraculous Saint Holy Land, his guard still up, spoke cautiously, "You... Just who in the heavens are you? Your face... it's not recognizable."

The elder's caution was well-founded. In a world where appearance could be altered with a thought, and where the most dangerous beings often hid behind the most unassuming facades, true identity was a matter of utmost importance.