The last day of the Revolt; the interstice between Rebellion and Fall. The mass of rebelling angels who forsook the grace of God for the lure of Daystar Lucifel have been pushed to the boundaries of heaven. At the very edge they stand, assembled into neat ranks. Their numbers are yet many, each and every one of them burning with hate and outraged pride. They are in retreat. Ostensibly, Heaven is the winning side, but the filthy, exhausted and wing-ragged rabble facing the army of Lucifiel do not look anything like victors. Three entire levels of Heaven have been breached; heavy fighting has seriously damaged them and they will have to be rebuilt almost from scratch. One level, this last layer of Heaven, lies completely in ruin. The angels of the Host of God are heart-sore and weary. They understand that they fight for the Grace of God, but those who defected were among their brightest and best; siblings, friends, teachers. But never their lovers. All those who dared love will be numbered among the Fallen. Irony, then, that the very cause of the rebellion is known to be loved, even now by those of the host who fight against him, but not, even once, even by those closest to him, to have loved. Before the rebellion, he was the most beautiful of all the angels; the brightest, the highest, who alone spoke directly with God. Lucifer, once Lucifiel, the the unanimously acclaimed ruler of heaven, who held the rank second only to the Holy Serafita. Lucifiel, their lightbringer, their Shining Prince. But it is Lucifer, now, who faces the host of Heaven, standing as proud and tall at the head of his defeated army, burning brighter than any star. In stark contrast the leader of the Host, God's chosen champion- a small, sullen figure of a boy, wielding a sword of red flame that seems almost too large for him to handle. Lucifer is unarmed and wears no armor, but he makes no move to defend himself from the burning sword as it descends, and neither does he show any sign of fear. His prefect face is devoid of emotion.