Lax

At the edge of creation—where the heavens thinned into the silence between stars—Angel Lax patrolled with unwavering purpose. He was carved from radiance, wings broad and gleaming like forged sunrise. His duty was clear: guard the Celestial Gate, destroy all who threatened its light. He had never questioned that duty. He had never needed to. Until the day the Gate shuddered. A ripple of darkness spilled across the marble sky, staining clouds that had never known shadow. Lax drew his spear, its blade a shard of condensed dawn. The air crackled. Then he heard it. Footsteps. Not the marching thunder of a fallen army. Not the screech of a fiend. Just… footsteps. Careful. Curious. A figure emerged from the rippling dark—a demon, but nothing like the roaring beasts Lax had battled before.