## Chapter 1: The Darkness That Preceded the Light
The Void was eternal. There was no time, no space, only the silent immensity where the Creator, known only as Kick, resided. For five hundred years, he contemplated his own reflection in the depths of the abyss, until the loneliness became unbearable. With a slow, almost reluctant gesture, he reached out his empty hand and *touched*.
And thus the Cosmos emerged. Galaxies spiraled in blinding colors, stars were born and died in endless cycles, planets formed and dissolved. But they were dead worlds. Lifeless. Pulseless. Kick observed his creation with indifferent eyes. Something was missing.
"Is perfection so... empty?" he murmured to himself, his voice echoing in the newly created void. He needed something more. Something that breathed, that suffered, that loved. Something that could bear witness to the glory and pain of his creation.
Then, with another, firmer touch, he molded the primordial matter. From the elemental chaos, three luminous forms emerged, three beings of pure energy and will. His children.
Hugel, the Angel of Light, radiated a golden aura that illuminated the miles around. His immaculate white wings spread the scent of freshly opened flowers. His voice was soft as a heavenly whisper, full of compassion and wisdom. He was the first to kneel before Kick, his expression serene.
"O Father, your creation is magnificent," Hugel said, bowing his head in reverence. "But there is a void. Allow us to fill these worlds with life."
Kick nodded slowly. "Yes, Hugel. Life must be born. But who will guide it? Who will protect it?"
Michael stood up. The Rebel Angel, with hair as black as night and flaming green eyes, exuded a wild, restless energy. He crossed his arms, an arrogant smile on his lips.
"Protect? What need do we have to protect what doesn't yet exist, Father? Let life unfold on its own. Let it fight, let it conquer, let it *live*!" His voice echoed forcefully, defiantly. "We don't need guardians. We need warriors!"
Kick regarded Michael with a deep gaze, but didn't rebuke. There was a flame of courage in him that couldn't be ignored.
Finally, **Huguel** approached. The third son, the most mysterious. While Hugel glowed and Michael burned, Huguel... *shadowed*. His wings were a swirl of dark colors—deep violet, navy blue, absolute black—that seemed to suck in the light around them. His eyes, dark as bottomless wells, observed everything with a disturbing intensity. And on his face, a white scar slashed diagonally across one eye, covered by a black leather patch.
He wore simple but striking clothing: a black shirt with a white skull emblazoned on the chest, baggy black pants, and white sneakers, a bizarre contrast between angelic elegance and a somber, almost human aesthetic. When he spoke, his voice was low, husky, as if whispering ancient secrets.
"Father," Huguel said, his gaze fixed on the Creator. "Life will be born. And with it, suffering. Pain. Loss. Do you want it to be all light and joy? Or will you allow there to be... balance?"
Kick was silent for a long moment, observing his three sons. Hugel, compassion; Michael, courage; Huguel, dark wisdom. Each represented an essential aspect.
"Balance," Kick finally replied. "Hugel, you will guide those who seek the light. Michael, you will prepare the warriors for the battle against the evil that will arise. And you, Huguel..." he pointed to the angel of darkness, "...you will watch over the shadows. You will know fear, hatred, betrayal. You will be the guardian of what many will fear, but which is necessary for the light to exist."
Huguel inclined his head in a cold bow, but said nothing. His eyes, beneath the blindfold, flickered with a faint yellow light, like sparks of sulfur.
As Hugel and Michael departed, ready to fulfill their destiny, Huguel remained. He watched the expanding Cosmos, the distant galaxies, the planets in formation. A strange, almost uncomfortable feeling hovered over him. It was a different emptiness than before. It was not the loneliness of the Primordial Void, but something.