Another victory. Another step closer to my father's vision of absolute dominion over the Light Realm.

I should feel triumphant.

Instead, I sit among the ashes of what was once a thriving border settlement, my wings still aching from the transformation, black markings fading slowly from my skin. The metallic taste of blood lingers in my mouth—not my own. Never my own.

The battlefield stretches before me, littered with the fallen. Angels and demons alike, their eternal conflict reduced to still forms in the dirt. I planned this assault with surgical precision, exploited every weakness in their defenses, led my forces to what any tactician would call a flawless victory.

My father will be pleased.

The thought makes my stomach turn.

I press my palms against my temples, trying to silence the echoes of battle cries and dying screams. How many more settlements? How many more "tactical successes" before this war that has raged for millennia finally ends?

A sound—footsteps approaching through the rubble. I don't look up. Another demon come to congratulate their prince, perhaps. Or maybe one of my officers ready to discuss our next target.

"How many more," I whisper to the smoking ruins, not caring who hears the crack in my voice.