Apollyon

A shadow falls upon the land like his long black hair, cascading down like a dark veil that obscures the light and hope of those who dwell beneath it. Apollyon, the harbinger of death and judgement, has stepped foot in the land of man, a realm that trembles at the mere whisper of his name. With each step he takes, the earth quakes beneath him, and an unsettling chill permeates the air, heralding the arrival of something with sinister connotations. The very fabric of reality seems to warp and twist in his presence, for where he walks, darkness follows, and a crime has occurred—a transgression against the natural order.

Wielding the spirits of the dead, his power is not merely that of a mortal; he commands legions of lost souls, their whispers echoing in the void, urging him onward in his relentless pursuit. They are his allies, bound to him by the chains of their unfulfilled desires and their thirst for vengeance. With each spirit he summons, he grows stronger, drawing upon their sorrow and rage to fuel his dark ambitions. He shall find his mark, a target whose fate is sealed by the very essence of his malevolence. The air crackles with anticipation, as if the world itself holds its breath, aware that a reckoning is at hand.

Yet, what does he know of the fall of Angelus? As he reflects on the fate of Angelus, Apollyon feels a twisted sense of kinship; both were once exalted, yet now they exist in stark contrast. Where Angelus was revered, Apollyon is feared; where hope flourished, despair reigns. The knowledge of this fall fuels his resolve, for he seeks to claim what was lost, to fix the balance. In his quest, he will not rest until he has judged the truth for himself, one where the echoes of the fallen resonate in the hearts of the living, reminding them of the thin line between salvation and damnation.