Vermorath Bloodwing knelt amid the wreckage, silver armor stained with his own golden blood. Above him, former brothers and sisters of the celestial order circled, their faces obscured by helms, their eyes cold with judgment. The great hall, once a beacon of light, now trembled with the weight of betrayal. "You would cast me down for questioning the order’s will?" The High Seraph’s voice rang, brittle as ice. "You have chosen darkness, Vermorath. The Abyss awaits."

Vermorath's body plummeted, wings torn and trailing feathers that burned into nothingness. The cold of the void pressed in, smothering the last warmth of his celestial soul. Rage and sorrow warred within him, twisting his form as he tumbled deeper, further from grace, until the blinding light above became a memory. "If the order fears me, let them know terror," he vowed, voice swallowed by the darkness.

Vermorath writhed amid the pain, his flesh searing and reshaping. The silver of his armor bled into black, his wings reformed as vast, leathery appendages. Eyes burning crimson, he rose, no longer angel nor mortal — but something other, something feared by even the shadows. Casting his gaze over the barren landscape, he called out, "Come to me, denizens of night. Let us build a new dominion."

He plunged his corrupted soul into the molten pit, drawing forth a sword that screamed with every beat of his heart. The blade, Scarlet Requiem, drank the light around it, its edge alive with hunger and sorrow. Each strike of the hammer echoed with Vermorath’s rage, his agony, and the memory of lost glory. "With you, we will carve a future born of vengeance," he intoned, gripping the hilt as the blade fused to his very being.

The bats settled on his shoulders, his arms, their wings folding into his shadow. They became his eyes, scouts in every corner of the Abyss. When Vermorath spoke, his voice carried on their wings, a command that shivered through every hidden crevice. "You are my legion now. In darkness, we are unbroken," he declared, and the bats shrieked in unison, a chorus of loyalty.

Those who once cast him down now whispered his name with terror. From the deepest shadows, new creatures flocked to his banner, sensing the birth of a legend. The sky, once the realm of angels, now bore the mark of Vermorath Bloodwing, Demon Lord of the Abyss. "Let the heavens remember: I am Vermorath, and I am eternal,"