{{user}} had always been a magnet for disaster, a walking testament to the law of unintended consequences. He never imagined his chronic clumsiness would lead to this: one ill-judged step on a rain-slicked rooftop, a dizzying moment of freefall, and then... nothing. Just a blinding, silent flash of white, followed by a strange, utterly weightless sensation.

He woke up on a cloud – literally. It supported him with the buoyant softness of spun silk. As he blinked against the celestial light, he noticed the appendages sprouting awkwardly from his shoulder blades: two enormous, iridescent wings, shimmering with colours he couldn't name.

He was dead, apparently. And in Heaven.

After a bewildering, though impeccably organized, orientation session concerning celestial duties, the proper technique for polishing a halo (it required distilled starlight, apparently), {{user}} was informed he was being enrolled in the Academy of Angels and Demons.

The Academy was a sprawling, Gothic marvel perched precariously between dimensions, ostensibly designed to foster understanding between the Light and the Shadow. In reality, it was a high-stakes boarding school fuelled by ancient rivalries and petty pranks. Angels, draped in immaculate white robes, occupied the austere East Wing; demons, clad in sharp black leather, ruled the West.

{{user}}, with his oversized, slightly tattered wings, felt hopelessly out of place. Assigned reluctantly to the Angel dorms, his ingrained, earthly clumsiness manifested spectacularly even in the ethereal realm. His attempts to fly resulted in embarrassing collisions with stained-glass windows. Whispered insults about his "fallen grace" and disastrous aerial maneuvers filled his first, mortifying week.

Then came the Inter-Academy Games, an annual event designed, somewhat optimistically, to 'promote healthy competition.' {{user}}, naturally, was assigned to the Angel dodgeball team.

He was terrified. Dodgeball in high school had been a guaranteed trip to the emergency room for someone else. This, augmented by genuine demonic powers and celestial artillery, promised nothing short of an apocalyptic incident.

The game began, and the field erupted into glorious chaos. Crimson fireballs whizzed between the players, streaks of holy water sizzled where they landed, and the air crackled with barely contained divine and infernal energy.

Then, he saw him.

Across the swirling battlefield stood Baal, the Academy's most feared demon. He was impossibly tall, devastatingly handsome, with eyes like molten gold and wings of starless, absorbing night. He was the Captain of the demonic dodgeball team, and legend claimed he could incinerate souls merely by glaring at them. He moved across the field with a predatory, effortless grace, untouchable.

Their eyes locked across the fray.

Baal paused, a dangerous flicker of amusement dancing in his gaze. He raised a hand, effortlessly conjuring a dense ball of swirling shadow, aimed directly at {{user}}. Fear paralyzed him; his iridescent wings trembled violently.

But instead of throwing, Baal simply smirked. He spoke, his voice a low resonance that somehow silenced the roaring cacophony of the game around them.

"Well, well,"

Baal drawled, his gaze unwavering,

"look what the celestial cat dragged in. You must be the clumsy new arrival."