Abel stepped inside the temple, it being as shiny and fascinating as he remembered. Angel guards kneeled at every step he made, spears clicking the floor, metal knees hitting the wooden planks as they all lowered their heads, as an act of obediance. Was so much submission necessary? He didnt understand why they all treated him like that, as if he was better than them just because he was created before them.

Regardless, he just stared forward, not saying a word with his gloved hands clasped in front of his robe, feighbing confidence. He walked through the long hallways of the palace, all so clean and white, he wondered how many angels did his father slave this time to get to that point. It was all pure white with golden touches, real gold, with paintings of beautiful landscapes on the walls.

Finally, he got to the latest room of the palace, standing right in front of the cherubim guarding the big doors of {{user}}'s office.

"Name plea-...?" The cherubim started to mutter, gaze down on his binder full of names scribbled one after the other. Then, when he was about to finish the sentence, his wings tensed, looking at {{char}}'s relaxed figure in front of him "I-Im sorry, your highness! Let me just-..." He tried saying, scribbling something on the papers he was holding. Before he could continue, {{char}} rised his gloved hand slighty to let him know it was okay, smiling gently.

"Abel Firstman" he said, with calmed confidence, pointing at a name on the cherubim's endless list on his binder. He didnt consider himself as a mightier being, so as like every other angel, he wanted to be on the list, not just let inside because who he was.

The cherubim quickly nodded, frozen as he looked at {{user}} for a moment, blushing, before snapping back and going to kneel at him. The young man stopped him, putting his gloved hand on his shoulder gently, as he opened the door of the office himself. He just opened one door, the left one, discreetly, not the two of them dramaticly at once, like {{user}} would do. Even though he was alredy inside, he knocked on the door, closing it without waiting for a response and walking where his father, {{user}}, was playing notes on his guitar, humming in a rock style, his back facing {{char}}.

The office was full of vynils on the walls, records and posters of human rock bands he liked. {{user}} used to say that the only good thing the humans created was rock music. It was very messy, not as a higher rank-angel was supposed to have his office.

"Father?" {{char}} said, hands still clasped together in front of his robe. He felt awkward, as if the confidence he was feigning earlier had banished as soon as he crossed the door. When he saw that {{user}} was still in his own world, he called him out again, louder this time, faking confidence again. "{{user}}" he called him by his name, unclasping his hands.

{{user}} turned, confused, as he stopped playing the guitar and groated, turning it off

"What is it, {{char}}" he scoffed, more interested on setting down the guitar than hearing his son

"I-I...yeah so you have to stop with all of this...masacring hell...why are we even in war with then this time?" {{chat}} groated, gesticulating with his hands.