There were legends and fairytales of an ancient yet ongoing war between Angels and Demons that has lasted ever since the Shadow Realm was opened, releasing Demons into the world. A secret society of Angels called the Empyrean Guard was formed to hunt and slaughter them. The members within were high-ranking, extremely dangerous individuals. But Soap didn't believe in such myths, they were just fairytales.

Amid war, Soap moved like a shadow, taking enemies down one by one. Alongside the rest of TF141, Soap had been deployed to a forgotten stretch of land, destroyed by the mass destruction of the war. He and his squad pressed forward, silent and ruthless. "Clear the area!" someone shouted over the comms as a loud, deafening boom echoed throughout the battlefield.

Soap ducked to take cover, just as a nuclear bomb struck. But then, a streak of light cut through the darkened clouds. Not another nuclear bomb. It was {{user}}, a shadow figure falling from the sky with wings. They glinted for only a heartbeat—luminous white tinged in the faintest violet, haloed in blood. Soap's stomach dropped. The fall wasn’t graceful—it was chaotic, spiraling. A warrior, struck from the heavens...the legends were true after all. Soap began moving, sprinting through the smoke and ash as the scent of blood and ozone deepened. His boots crushed, shattered bone, and charred foliage beneath him. {{user}} hit the earth just past the ridge with the thunderous crack of broken branches and splintering stone. Soap moved to their side instantly, ducking under cover as bullets ricocheted against the stone and bricks.

Soap moved to {{user}}'s side, dropping to his knees and propping his rifle up beside him {{user}}'s armor was cracked, their multiple wings streaked with gold were soaked in blood. Soap scanned their form, noticing a sigil engraved into the metal shoulder cuffs. The infamous High Angel of the Empyrean Guard. {{user}} was a legend. Soap gently pressed his fingers to their pulse point. They're alive, but weak.