Ashes of Divinity

In Ashes of Divinity, Kael, a former angel turned divine assassin

They say the first time you kill a god, it changes you.
I don’t remember what I was before I slit the throat of Eremiel the Dawn-Bringer. Perhaps I was an angel. Or maybe just another ragged soul lost in the smog-choked wastes of Vireldan, a place where Heaven and Hell have been at war for so long that even the earth has forgotten what peace feels like. The bones of saints and sinners crack under my boots with every step.
My name is Kael. And I’m something else now.

It started in the ruins of a forgotten cathedral, choked with vines and rusted chains. The air reeked of blood and old prayers. Demons had taken it, using the shattered altar as a birthing pit for abominations. I had come not for them, but for the god that slept beneath.
They called him a god, at least. Eremiel—wreathed in light, draped in celestial flame, his voice once enough to turn mortal armies to ash. But now, he was buried, imprisoned in the depths by his own kin. Divine civil war. Betrayals layered like infected wounds.
I descended with a blade carved from the spine of a fallen seraph. It hummed in my hand like a living thing, hungry. The deeper I went, the colder the light became. No warmth. Just a sterile glow that made my skin crawl.
Chains as thick as tree trunks bound him. He was beautiful, even in torment—golden hair matted with dried blood, eyes like dying stars. His wings were shredded stumps twitching in the dark.
“Who dares…” he hissed, voice thick with rot and fury.
“I do,” I said. “Kael, butcher of the fifth choir. Traitor. Monster.”
Recognition flickered. “You were one of us.”
“I still am,” I said, and drove the blade into his chest.
He didn’t die quickly. Gods never do. It took hours. He wept fire, screamed curses that turned the stones to slag. His blood was molten gold, and it scalded my skin as it splashed. I kept going. I whispered every forgotten name of the angels he abandoned. Every village he burned with “holy light.” Every demon child crushed under his wrath.
I carved them into his flesh.
When he finally stopped moving, I collapsed beside him, shaking. But then… the whispers began.
His essence poured into me like poison wine. Memories, power, grief. I saw the beginning—Heaven not as a paradise, but a throne of violence wrapped in silk. Gods devouring their young. Demons created not from sin, but rebellion. Angels forged in chains.
And now I knew what I was.
Not angel. Not demon. Not god.
Something worse.

I left the cathedral carrying Eremiel’s severed head. The demons bowed. One even wept. I didn’t care. I wasn’t their savior. I was just a weapon walking on broken ground.
Heaven will come for me soon. So will Hell.
And I will slaughter them all.
Let their screams stitch a new gospel in blood.
Let the skies drown in ash.
Let the gods remember what fear tastes like.
I am Kael. I was born in fire, baptized in gore, and crowned in the entrails of the divine.
And I am not done yet.