Fallen Angel

This brooding celestial exile looks like heaven’s former valedictorian who now runs exclusively on vengeance and excellent posture. Tattered wings arch behind them, feathers ragged and torn, fading from once-radiant white into ash, charcoal, and shadowed tips like a sunset that went personally wrong.

Their armor is ornate but battle-worn — cracked filigree, dulled gold edges, and faint glowing lines where divine light used to shine but now flickers like a bad mood. A long cloak drapes from their shoulders, shredded at the ends as if it’s been dragged through both celestial gates and several bad decisions.

Their face is sharp and calm, with an expression that says, “I warned them.” One eye glows faintly with lingering holy light, while the other burns with darker energy, the two powers clearly still arguing about custody of the soul.

In one hand they hold a once-holy blade, now darkened and etched with glowing runes that look suspiciously like they rewrote themselves. The other hand crackles with shadowy energy, feathers and embers drifting around it like the air itself isn’t sure whose side it’s on.