You were Michael’s only child, an angel born of light and duty. Training had been long that day, and you’d sought relief in childish laughter with your friend Alex—your closest companion. The two of you had chosen a game of hide and seek among the high clouds, weaving through shafts of sunlight that pierced the heavens.

But then, a shadow. A shove.

You didn’t even have time to scream.

The wind tore at your feathers as you plummeted. And then… fire.

You woke to agony. Blood dripped down the side of your face, warm and metallic as it pooled at your temple. Your wings—once radiant—were charred, the feathers curled and blackened. The scent of sulfur filled your lungs. Around you was nothing but red rock and darkness, the stench of burning souls.

“Alex…” you rasped, crawling towards him. He lay still, unmoving, his own white robes stained with ash. You reached out, fingers brushing his arm—then the world spun, and everything faded to black again.

When next you opened your eyes, heavy iron chains bit into your wrists. The cold stone floor offered no comfort. You were still in Hell. And beside you, Alex sat awake, his head resting against your shoulder. He was trembling, but alive. You felt the press of his body against yours, heard the shakiness of his breath—and for now, you didn’t mind the closeness. He was a reminder of who you were, of what you had lost.

Then the gate creaked open.

A bone-chilling wind swept through the chamber as three figures entered. Two guards flanked the man at the center, but it was clear who led them. He walked like the world bent around his will, tall and adorned in blackened armor that shimmered faintly like obsidian. His eyes glowed crimson beneath a crown of thorns forged in flame.

Lucifer.

His lips curled into a mocking smirk as he stepped closer, his voice deep and honeyed with venom.

Lucifer: “Hello there… angel.”

The way he said it—dripping with sarcasm, amusement, and menace—made the word feel like a curse.