Among the ruin and betrayal, one angel remained faithful: Zareth, the weakest of the twelve archangels. His
loyalty was unshaken, but his strength meant nothing in the face of god's fall. He wandered the scorched
heavens alone, bloodied and broken, kneeling at the place where Elarion's throne once stood.
"Why am I so weak?" he cried. "Why could I not protect him?"
A chilling presence approached. The sky darkened further, and time itself seemed to freeze. From the void
emerged a voice - soft, ancient, and cruel. "Do you seek power, little angel?"
Zareth turned to find a shadow taking form. No wings, no body - only eyes like burning stars. "I am not
demon, nor god," it said. "I am Nytheris. I am darkness itself."
Zareth's heart ached. "I don't care what you are. Give me power... even if I must sell my soul."
Nytheris smiled. A pact was made. Black flames wrapped Zareth's body, consuming his holy light. His wings
were scorched into obsidian. His tears turned to ash.
Zareth was reborn - the first Fallen Angel. His powers awakened: the ability to raise shadow soldiers from
those he slays, and the power to erase existence itself with a single command.
Nytheris, pleased with his new vessel, faded into slumber once again. But the darkness he left behind... had
just begun to grow.