In a far away land a battlefield stretched endlessly beneath a dark sky.
The ground was soaked in blood.
White-winged bodies lay scattered everywhere, their armor broken, their feathers stained crimson. Some lay face down in the mud, while others stared blankly toward the sky that they had once protected.
They were angels.
Warriors of heaven.
Protectors of divine will.
And they had been slaughtered.
Around the battlefield stood an army of Fallen Angels.
Thousands of dark wings spread across the horizon like a storm cloud.
Their black armor reflected the faint light of burning ruins nearby, and their voices rose together in a triumphant chant.
Victory.
They roared with savage pride.
Their boots crushed the fallen bodies of angels beneath them as they celebrated the destruction of heaven's soldiers.
Then—
A single figure stepped forward.
The moment he moved, the air itself seemed to tremble.
Power radiated from him like an invisible storm.
