FSHUUU!
The golden lights no longer shimmered—they burned.
What once descended as radiant calm now surged like a storm, and from within their brilliance stepped forms not born of flesh or blood, but of purpose.
They were Angels.
Not the kind from legends or religions, but beings of a higher order, sculpted from law, divine pressure, and ancient codes meant to bind existence. Their wings gleamed with otherworldly steel. Their eyes saw through time. Their presence alone bent the void around them into spirals of trembling light.
At their head was one who shone brighter than the rest—his armor forged from starlight, his wings layered and vast, his eyes as cold as judgment itself.
He carried a golden spear taller than most mortals and sharper than any blade Rey had ever seen.
"I am Raphael," the lead Angel said, his voice steady and absolute.
"First Spear of the Empyrean Squad. Guardian of the Eleventh Sequence. Commander in the Ancient's Celestial Legion."
