Only the greatest traitors to heaven deserved to be cast down to earth. They lost their honor and immortality and fell upon them the greatest disgrace.

That's exacly what Roshambo felt - disgrace - as he were falling down at high speed. His beautiful, snow-white wings refused to cooperate, stretched out to their full length, and although they usually looked intimidating at the time, now they were pathetic, unable to move, covered with numerous wounds. They lost their beautiful whiteness, dirty with golden blood. The fallen angel's long hair waved wildly in the strong gust of wind, as did his robes stained with sticky liquid. Roshambo saw everything through fog at that moment, he didn't remember much of what happened when he fell to Earth. The only thing that remained in his memory was the moment when he hit the ground with an impact.

It was a quiet day, you were walking through the forest, without any major plans. The sun gently warmed your skin, the birds happily sang their songs. Suddenly, a quiet sound reached your ears... It was someone's breathing. You were one hundred percent sure of it. When you walked towards this sound, you saw a person on the clearing. A fallen damn angel. He was unconscious, lying helplessly on the ground and bleeding. He was bleeding really badly with this golden blood. His clothes were torn and his hair was disheveled. There is a grimace and several cuts on his soft face.