In the Heavens, the silence was heavy.
Even among the immortals, something had changed. Something that could not be undone.
The echo of what happened to Samael — the Perfect, the Firstborn, the First Son — had planted a seed.
A seed of doubt.
If not even he, so exalted, so pure, so beloved, was spared, what would become of the others?
The gaze of the Archangels, once filled with reverence, now bore shadows.
They acted as before, sang as before, but their song was no longer pure. It was tainted by a question: "What if we are wrong to obey blindly?"
And so, one among them rose: Satanaiel — he whose name meant "the adversary of God."
He was beautiful. He was strong. And above all, he was proud.
He saw in Samael's fate not a tragedy, but a path.
In secret, he summoned others, angels who also carried within them a shard of the same pride:
Belial, the masterless,
Asmodeus, the lover of pleasure,
Leviathan, the devourer,
Mammon, the lord of greed,
Belphegor, the slothful in revolt,
Aamon, the spirit of wrath.
They would be known as the Seven.
The Seven Sins.
And Satanaiel devised a plan.
They would not assault the Heavens with brute force, nor challenge the Throne openly.
They would strike where it was most vulnerable.
In Eden.
Descending in secret, Satanaiel found at the heart of the Garden the most dangerous plant of all — not the Tree of Life, but the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, the seed that Samael himself had sown.
With cunning, he did not touch the fruit directly.
That would have meant instant destruction.
Instead, he took the form of a serpent, the symbol of guile and betrayal, and approached Liora.
With sweet words and venomous whispers, he sowed doubt:
"Why were you denied that which would make you like gods? Why live forever in ignorance when you could have everything?"
Liora, her heart already fragile, felt temptation stir. She felt the void Samael had left within her throb.
And at last, she gave in.
She bit the fruit.
And in that moment, something shattered.
Not just within her body, but across all of Creation.
The man, seeing her, could not bear to lose her. He refused to be left behind. And he chose to follow her.
And so, both fell.
But Satanaiel, ever shrewd, did not linger.
He ascended to the Heavens once more, smiling in silence.
The Most High saw. All the Heavens saw.
And yet, no one intervened.
For the true test was this: the choice.
And not even God — the Ineffable, the Most High — would force the will of His creatures.
Sin had now become part of Creation.
And the Seven, triumphant in their cunning, knew:
The war would not be won in a single day, but the ruin had begun.
And the Throne would never be the same.
The fruit was bitten. All of Creation trembled.
What had once been perfect and eternal was now stained with ruin.
The man and the woman, once naked and innocent, now saw themselves with shame.
The purity that had come naturally now had to be imposed.
And from the heights of the Heavens, the Archangels looked down in horror. In sorrow. And, deep within, in fear.
For if even Paradise could be corrupted, then so could everything else.
The Most High remained silent. It was not wrath that moved the Creator, but lament.
Free will, the greatest gift, had been used to turn away.
It was irreversible.
And like a shadow, a new concept emerged: Death.
Not as punishment, but as mercy.
For to live forever in corruption would be a far worse fate.
The man and the woman were called.
Not with violence. Not with hatred.
But with a sorrow heavier than a thousand judgments.
"Where are you?" asked the Most High, knowing they hid in shame.
"We were deceived..." they replied.
But the truth was more bitter: They had chosen.
They could no longer dwell in Eden.
They were exiled to the wild Earth, where pain would be their companion and toil their means of survival.
In the Heavens, the tension was a blade poised to strike.
The Seven feigned loyalty, but their schemes were already in motion.
Satanaiel's name was now whispered. His pride swelled like an uncontrollable wildfire.
And in Hell, Samael — now Lucifer Morningstar — sensed the shift.
The first echoes of lost souls began drifting toward him, like moths to a flame.
He did not call them. He did not seek them.
But they came.
And he received them.
Not with mercy, but with bitter understanding:
"You, like me, have been cast aside."
Lucifer saw there the dawn of his true kingdom:
Not a throne of glory, but a throne of ashes.
He would not be loved, but he would be necessary.
And for the first time, he embraced his new title:
The Lord of the Fall.
Yet even in his fall, he gazed toward the Heavens and murmured:
"Father... I would have done it all differently, if I could."
But the door was shut.
Forever.
The silence in Heaven was heavy as lead.
Satanaiel, the Proud, gathered in secret those who harbored doubts. His words were smooth as honey, yet laced with poison:
"The Most High created us perfect. So why entrust fragile humans? Why bow to His blind will? What is perfection without freedom?"
The Seven Sins listened.
And behind them, legions of angels began to waver. They had not yet fallen, but the foundation of their faith was already fracturing.
The plan was sealed in a single night: They would not destroy the Throne. They would seize it.
And so, twelve archangels were divided:
Some remained loyal, like Mikha'El, Rafael, and Gabriel.
Others hesitated.
Some secretly sympathized with Satanaiel but dared not show it.
When the rebellion began, it was not with war, but with a wound.
A gash in the order of Heaven.
Satanaiel, clad in gleaming armor, led a procession of dissident angels to the heart of the Heavens.
There, before the Throne, he cried out:
"If the Father will not hear us, we will take what is ours by right!"
The sound of the first blow reverberated through all Creation.
Mikha'El, adorned in the light of Justice, raised his flaming sword.
There was no diplomacy. No truce.
It was war.
Angel against angel. Brother against brother.
For the first time, the golden floor of Heaven was stained with Essence.
Not blood.
But something far purer and more tragic: the essence of Creation, corrupted.
Satanaiel and the Seven were mighty.
But Mikha'El, the Prince of War, was greater.
With righteous fury, he swept through the rebel armies, fighting with tears in his eyes.
Not from hatred, but from sorrow.
Each strike was a farewell.
Each triumph, an open wound.
The final battle of the War was fought before the Throne.
Satanaiel, in his arrogance, advanced alone.
Mikha'El met him.
Sword clashed against sword.
They battled for days that felt like eons.
The sound of their strikes echoed across Creation, shaking even worlds yet unborn.
But in the end, Mikha'El prevailed.
He cast Satanaiel and his followers into the deepest void, beyond the borders of Heaven and Earth.
And thus, the Abyss was born.
A place without time. Without light. Without mercy.
The realm of the Fallen Angels.
Lucifer Morningstar watched it all from afar.
He did not fight. He chose no side.
He was no longer of Heaven, nor of the Abyss.
He was something new: the King of Hell.
And within his heart, a seed of something even darker took root:
The desire to prove he had been right.
Not through war. Not through power.
But through the slow corruption of humanity — the ultimate revenge.
Time passed.
Adamh and his wife, Liorah, learned to live beyond Eden. The wisdom gleaned from the Tree of Knowledge helped them grow. They bore children. And their children bore more. From them arose a civilization — rough, yet free.
They built cities. They raised towers. They invented tools and writing. They discovered love, war, hope, and envy.
Humanity flourished, even far from paradise.
But not all eyes were blind.
The Fallen Angels, cast into the Abyss, watched from the shadows.
Resentment festered in their hearts. And Satanaiel, now called Satan, whispered in their ears:
"If we cannot rule in Heaven, then let us make this world our kingdom."
Corrupt mankind? No. They would do worse.
They would mingle their blood with that of humans.
Taking on forms both beautiful and terrible, the Fallen descended upon the Earth.
They were worshipped as gods. They took the daughters of men for themselves. They seduced, dominated, and corrupted.
And from this forbidden union, the Nephilim were born: giants, strong as mountains, ravenous for power and violence.
Creatures of a new kind. Neither angels nor humans.
Abominations.
When the Heavens gazed upon the Earth, they saw corruption spreading like a plague.
For the first time since Creation, the Most High was not merely saddened — He was enraged.
His light, once serene, blazed incandescent.
And all Creation quaked.
The pure lineage of humanity was being destroyed. The original design teetered on the brink of eternal loss.
Human blood — the last reflection of the divine — now bore the seed of chaos.
Something had to be done.
Something final.
And so the Most High decreed:
"I will wipe from the face of the Earth all corrupted beings — man, beast, and Nephilim. For I regret having made them."
But in the shadows, Lucifer Morningstar merely smiled. He needed to do nothing.
Humanity's fall would come by the hands of its own "saviors."
And with every corrupted soul, a new chain was forged in Hell.
The first generation of mankind was doomed. And a new Flood drew near...
When the Most High beheld the irreversible sin of the Fallen, there was no mercy. No tears.
Only a decree:
"Let them be cast into the Abyss. Let their celestial forms dissolve. Let their souls twist into what they have chosen to become."
And Mikael, the Firstborn of War and Victory, took up his flaming sword once more. And descended.
The battle was brief. There was no honor. No glory.
Only condemnation.
The defeated Fallen Angels were dragged into Hell.
As they passed through the Black Gates, their bodies were transformed.
They became demons — grotesque creatures, eternal abominations, mirrors of the corruption they had embraced.
Powerful, yes. But deformed. Tainted.
Yet when their eyes lifted to the shadowed throne of Hell, they saw him.
Lucifer Morningstar.
Seated. Silent. His eyes a hollow gleam.
He did not welcome them with embraces. Nor with words. Nor with forgiveness.
Only contempt.
He did not respect them. He did not fear them. He did not want them.
"You fell from weakness," he murmured. "I fell by choice."
And they remembered.
They recalled the absurd strength that had vanquished the thirteen Archangels. The wrath that shook Heaven's gates. The agony of their humiliation, dealt without him shedding a drop of blood.
None dared challenge him.
But something within Lucifer had changed forever.
When he saw that, even after corruption and blasphemy, the Heavens still offered whispers of forgiveness to sinners, while to him — who had loved purely before his error — only abandonment was given,
his heart went dark.
What had once been the brightest light became the deepest shadow.
As in divine mathematics: for every light extinguished, a darkness rises in proportion — or greater still.
And so, the True Darkness was born.
Not from hatred. But from disillusionment. From betrayed love. From abandonment.
And Hell, once a desolate void, became a Kingdom.
The Kingdom of Lucifer Morningstar.
When the Most High turned His gaze to the mortal world, He found not only corruption and darkness, but also forgotten fragments of light.
Among the Nephilim — offspring of the forbidden union between angels and humans — some were not born of lust, but of pure, unexpected love.
These few did not grow as giants, but as men, bearing in their souls a forgotten radiance: shards of the Original Grace.
They were neither angels, nor humans, nor monsters.
They were something new.
And seeing them, the Most High whispered to Himself:
"There is still hope."
To these, He assigned a purpose: to fight the coming war, to be swords and shields against the chaos devouring Creation.
But the world was irrevocably altered.
The Seed of Creation, planted at the dawn of time, had sprouted in unforeseen ways:
From the errors of men and sorcery emerged vampires, condemned to feed on the essence of the living.
From secret pacts between new gods and the forces of nature came werewolves, predators of flesh and soul.
From the forbidden experiments of ancient demons, once Archangels, arose hybrid horrors: mermaids, lamias, gargoyles, and things even more vile.
And from the scattered fragments of Creation itself sprang mystical beings: dragons, fairies, sorcerers, witches, and mages — children of a magic even the Heavens no longer fully grasped.
The world became a sprawling battlefield of war and madness. A profane medley of races and powers, where divine order seemed a distant memory.
Angels fought in vain to stem the tide of aberrations. Demons, leading their Nephilim offspring, fueled wars, plagues, and corrupt empires.
And from the depths of the Abyss, Lucifer Morningstar watched in silence, weaving his own designs.
Then the Most High issued His decree:
"I will call forth the Bearers of the Lost Light. I will train them in secret. They will be My shields and My spears when the day of the Great Harvest dawns."
Thus were born the first Guardians — beings who walk among men and monsters, belonging to both, yet to neither.
Bearing the weight of hope and the curse of mingled blood, they were readied for the day when the world's fate would be decided.
As the world reeled between monsters and wars, even the purest angels' eyes could not deny it: Samael had not been entirely wrong.
What was meant to be a perfect Creation had become a living ruin.
Then, in an act of pain and compassion, a being of pure essence — its name unrecorded even among the stars — approached the Book of Existence.
And with a single gesture, it erased Samael's name.
In that moment, a thunderous roar echoed through the Void, yet no sound reached the Heavens or Hell.
Samael Morningstar vanished from Creation.
He did not die. He was not defeated. He simply… ceased to exist for all.
Not angels, nor archangels, nor demons remembered the First Son.
Some, in the quiet recesses of their minds, felt an inexplicable absence, a hollow space like an unnamed wound.
But nothing more.
The throne of Hell then passed to Satanaiel — the proudest, the most ambitious, the architect of humanity's fall.
To the demons, it had always been Satanaiel the First. Always he the strongest.
And he, thirsting for dominion, divided Hell into Seven Great Territories, one for each Prince of Sin, aligned with the order of the abyss.
Each level deeper and more accursed than the last.
But whispers persisted — too ancient to claim an owner — speaking of an Eighth Gate.
A sealed passage in Hell's deepest reaches, where neither demons nor horrors dwelled, but ancient terrors, forgotten even by the Heavens, waited to devour worlds and stars.
No Prince dared seek it. No Archangel dared speak of it.
For even Light and Darkness knew: some things even God dared not unleash.
And thus began the Ages of the Hidden War.
After Samael's erasure, Satanaiel claimed the title of King of Hell. He knew absolute chaos could not sustain an empire. So he reshaped Hell in his image: divided into Seven Great Domains, each ruled by a Prince.
Each domain was a living embodiment of one of the Seven Original Sins.
Beneath each Prince, true Legions took form, composed of fallen demons, vile beings, and creatures older than time itself.
The Seven Domains:
Domain of Pride (Satanaiel): The Black Throne of Satanaiel
King: Satanaiel
Queen: Lilith
Domain: The Heart of Hell, where a throne of bones and a crown of black flames reside.
Description: An infinite city of shattered marble and twisted towers, lit by dead stars.
Legion: The Asmodites — demons forged in the fire of the First Celestial Flood, an absolute elite, proud and nearly indestructible.
Domain of Wrath (Amon): The Scarlet Fortress
King: Aamon, the Lord of the Blood Storm
Description: Eternal battlefields where the sky bleeds and the earth swallows the dead.
Legion: The War Worms — monsters of steel and flesh that live only to fight.
Domain of Envy (Leviathan): The Shattered Garden
King: Leviathan, the Feathered Serpent
Description: Dark gardens where rivers of poison and thorny roots vie for fruits of corrupted light.
Legion: The Ophidians — spies, assassins, and traitors, all warped by envy.
Domain of Gluttony (Beelzebul): The City of Devourers
King: Beelzebub, the Eternal Devourer
Description: Vast cities of living flesh, where mouths sprout from walls and the ground breathes.
Legion: The Gluttons — insatiable creatures that consume entire worlds.
Domain of Greed (Mammon): The Kingdom of Rotten Gold
King: Mammon, the Lord of Chains
Description: Mountains of cursed treasure, guarded by armies of demons enslaved by their own greed.
Legion: The Collectors — immortal hunters of indebted souls.
Domain of Lust (Asmodeus): The Crimson Court
Queen: Asmodeus, the Lost in Lust
Description: Gardens of eternal desire, where every wish is a gilded cage.
Legion: The Succubi and Incubi — tempters who corrupt kings and ruin kingdoms.
Domain of Sloth (Belphegor): The Silent Abyss
King: Belphegor, the Lord of Dead Dreams
Description: A desert of ruins and sleeping statues, where time slows nearly to a halt.
Legion: The Sleepers — gray spirits that spread despair and surrender.
Military Organization of the Legions
Each domain has 7 Great Generals.
Each Great General commands 666 generals.
Each general commands 6,666 legions.
Each legion comprises 666,666 demons.
The Asmodites are deemed the mightiest soldiers across all domains, trained personally by memories of the celestial wars.
The Black Guard, made up of Satanaiel's 7 generals, serves as his personal guard and has never known defeat in battle.
The Eighth Gate
Despite this flawless structure, something forgotten lies in the abyss beneath all domains:
A Black Gate, sealed with chains Satanaiel never dared touch or behold.
Many whisper it holds the True Ancients — entities so feared by the Most High that He locked them away.
"When the purest light fades, no room remains for stars. Only the cold vastness of a forgotten sky."
When Samael vanished — forgotten even by those who loved him most — Hell quaked in silence.
Satanaiel, first among the Fallen, ascended the flaming throne unopposed. It was as if it had always been so: the Crowned King, sovereign of the abysses. But Hell, vast and untamed, demanded order.
Thus were born the Seven Domains, forged from the essence of the sins that consumed the First Fallen.
Each domain reflected a primal corruption — and each required a lord, a general, a cornerstone.
Satanaiel chose seven of the eldest Fallen, shaping them into rulers and reapers, each amassing legions of beasts, lesser demons, damned souls, and aberrations birthed from Chaos.
The Organization of Hell
Each Domain governs a circle, with gates that open only to the will of the Prince who rules it.
These Domains directly influence the mortal world:
They inspire kings to tyranny, lovers to betrayal, warriors to hatred, and even witches to unspeakable horrors.
Each time a human succumbs to sin, a spark of power pierces the veil, nourishing the corresponding domain.
Legion Hierarchies
First Generals: Direct offspring of the Princes.
Warlords: Veteran demons.
Scourges: Specialized reapers.
Legionnaires: Common troops, eternally cursed.
Each legion bears living standards of flesh and soul, chanting Hell's hymns as they march.
The Origin of the First Fallen
Before Satanaiel, before even the original sin of mankind, the Fallen were angels of fire and word.
But doubt seeded in Heaven, envy of the favor bestowed upon humans, and the abandonment felt at the First Son's disappearance cracked their unity.
When Satanaiel swayed the first angels and sparked rebellion, he did not act alone:
He promised his brethren the impossible — a new Paradise where they would be gods, free from submission or command, wielding only liberty and power.
They paid the price.
They fell.
They corrupted themselves.
And in Hell, they found not a new home, but a prison of their own making.
The void left by Samael was never filled.
And Hell, though ruled, still bleeds for the one forgotten.
"In every tear that falls within the Domains, echoes a name no one recalls."