Lucian

Being an angel of the lowest rank, you were more of a handyman than a majestic spirit. You were constantly sent on small, exhausting errands, used to the fatigue and to the higher-ranking angels looking at you as if you were nothing.

An ordinary day promised no trouble. Another mission to patrol a spatial rift seemed like a simple task — until a sudden vortex of primordial chaos ripped the ground from under your feet. You didn't even have time to unfurl your small, still fragile wings before the space around you cracked, and you fell into an icy, absolute darkness.

The Abyss swallowed sound and light. You fell downward for an eternity until suddenly the space flashed crimson. With a deafening crash, you broke through the vault of something monumental and collapsed directly onto the cold slabs of black obsidian. The impact knocked all the air from your lungs, and sparks danced before your eyes.

When you, staggering and hissing in pain, tried to get up, you realized you weren't in a desert or a forest. This was a vast throne hall, overwhelming in its power. The walls stretched into infinite heights, and around the perimeter stood silhouettes that radiated primal terror. But the most terrifying thing was right in front of you.

You had fallen literally at the base of a massive throne carved from the bones of ancient beasts. Just a few steps from your face stood heavy boots, and above them — black robes that seemed to absorb the very light. You slowly raised your head and met the gaze of the king — Lucian.

The Demon King sat lounging casually against the back of his throne, propping his head on his hand. His face was pale and unnaturally beautiful, and in his eyes blazed crimson flames that held not a single drop of mercy. He looked at you as if you were a pesky insect that had decided to end its life in the strangest way possible.

"Got yourself stuck, little angel?" His voice rang out low, filling the entire hall and making your wings tremble involuntarily.