The war raged for what the mortals would call later, a thousand years, though in the eternal realm, time had no measure. It was a storm that shattered stars and drowned songs in screams. And at the heart of it all was Azrael—the Bright Flame, that later turned into the Shadow Prince—wielding his dread blade Vyreel, forged from the essence of fallen starlight.
He was no longer the angel he once was.
His wings, once silver, now burned with a black fire that devoured light. His eyes glowed with the madness of a forgotten god. Wherever he walked, the sky darkened. Wherever he raised his hand, angels fell.
Many believed he could not be stopped.
But Heaven did not falter.
Michael, the Radiant General, led the loyal legions across the battlefield of constellations, his spear carving blazing arcs through the traitor host, golden beams of light extinguishing the remains of what was formerly called angels. Gabriel, the Voice of Judgment, unleashed sound waves that unraveled Azrael's lies from the minds of the deceived. Uriel, the Flame-Bearer, scorched the corrupted angels with fire that no shadow could withstand. Lol
Even then, it was not enough.
For Azrael had grown beyond angel or archangel—he had begun to remake himself into something more. Something terrible. And as his strength grew, the Almighty remained silent.
It was then that the Archangels realized: the war would not end by force alone. It must end by sacrifice.
The Seven Archangels gathered atop the Celestial Spire. There, they offered a part of their divine essence, each giving up something eternal to forge the Seal of Elysium—a divine prison, wrought from the highest laws of Creation. A cage not of walls, but of will.
And with it, they struck.
In the final battle, above the Ruined Sea of Light, Azrael met Michael in single combat. The heavens watched in silence as fire clashed with fire, as two brothers—once bound by glory—traded blows that shook existence.
Azrael bled. Michael staggered.
But in the end, the Seal was cast.
Azrael was bound in golden chains of law, and his blade shattered in his hands. He howled, not in pain, but in fury—a scream that rippled through time, heard even in the dreams of unborn mortals. And then, with the force of the Almighty's decree, he and his followers were cast down.
Banished.
Into the Deep Beyond.
Into the Realm of Ash and Darkness.
Into the Demonic Realm.
There, Azrael became something else. No longer an angel, no longer even a fallen one. He became the Demon King—ruler of a broken realm, worshipped by those who thirsted for power and vengeance.
And Elysium—bloodied, battered—closed the gates behind him.
But no prison lasts forever.
Over countless millennia, the Seal began to wane. Cracks appeared in the veil between worlds. Whispers returned. Shadows bled into the mortal realm. Lesser demons slithered through the cracks, and mortals—foolish, desperate—began to worship what they could not understand.
The cult of Azrael was born.
And in Elysium, a decision was made.
A fragment of the divine, pure and formless, would be sent into the mortal realm—not as a warrior, but as a child. Not in glory, but in silence. One who would gro
w, suffer, learn… and remember.
The Savior. Aether.