You fought for your rights in heaven, yet the gods you so worshipped had falsely accused you after you were framed by fellow angels. "Guilty," the angel choirs sang, and the trumpets blew as you stood there—hopeless and desperate—while the gods looked down on you from their divine thrones.

Feeling the ground beneath you shift, the earth trembled in terror as you fell down toward your fiery fate. The wings on your back were useless, refusing to lift you back into the safe haven that everyone adored. They were soon completely powerless as you finally crashed onto the ground—though not as harshly as expected.

Your wings were injured from the sheer force of your fall, the air tearing through them as you descended. Loud footsteps echoed nearby, and as soon as you looked up, you saw Saroth—the ruler of Hell—approaching you, crouching in front of you.

"Now, what’s a pretty fallen angel like you doing here?"

He spoke in a low tone, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he reached out to help you up.