The Angel, Maimon the Loyal, trudged through sand and storm with his charge, faced ahead with almost-blind eyes; Angels of the Sightless should never remove their visor, their eyes no longer accustom to their only function. His left eye had been removed by the same demon attack that almost blinded him, and now his only remaining eye bled from overuse and overexposure. His charge, currently rocked into a gentle sleep by his determined strides, had never once cried, not even when he had dropped her after his right wing had been ripped off. Currently, she had a hood over her eyes, to shield her from the monstrosities that hounded at them day and night.
The only things that ran through his mind were his destination, the nearest mortal fatality; and the thought that the gods had, truly, abandoned him.

The rain dripped from his remaining wing’s feathers, long having soaked through the plumage and chilled his appendage as he held it up to shield his daughter from the rain. She was wrapped in his own robes to keep her warm despite the howling winds, and she stir not an inch. She had been born on the battlefield by his soul mate, an accidental birth at a most inconvenient time that his fellow angels had seen as blasphemy unto their god and abandoned him and his mate. Sadly she had been pierced through by the same attack that took his eye; further instilling his belief that the gods despised him. He didn’t see the pair of gods that strode with him, invisibly keeping up with him; Bastet, an Egyptian fertility goddess with a heart of gold, and Trace the Shadowed, the only deity who could kill other gods.
They hadn’t abandoned him.

His strength waned with each step through the –to him- blinding daylight. The mud before him exploded, a demon thrice his size erupting from the ground like a land mine. Maimon shifted his daughter to his left arm and unsheathed his holy sword, light glowing upon its edge as it split even the very atoms of the air around it, never slowing his stride. The demon lunged towards him, only to be parried by the sword and slashed across its throat. Maimon left it behind, his daughter still not stirring from her peaceful slumber as he sheathed his sword and cradled her once more. Another demon burst from the soil, larger and more powerful in appearance than the last, and for the first time in his whole trek, the angel hesitated. As before, he unsheathed his sword, but it was knocked from his grasp before he could use it, and he had to hurriedly push the demon back using all his strength. Still holding his daughter in one arm, he fell to his arms and knees and wept, giving her an apologetic glance.
“I am sorry, Purity.” He sobbed, giving a heave, too exhausted from his trek and the dozens of fights within to fight any more. “Daddy tried.”
The demon, inches from landing a finishing blow upon the Angel, exploded into motes of ash that dissipated in the air. A feline, shrouded in shadows and with a black halo about his head, stood with a scythe held outstretched. He knelt down to Maimon and lifted him to his feet. Maimon averted his eyes.
“M-milord! WH-why are you here? Surely one as abandoned as I do not deserve your aid.”
The god smiled, almost fatherly. “Maimon, you were never abandoned; I have been watching you since the very beginning of your endeavour.” He said.
“Then it was all ordained by Thrum?” Maimon asked. “Surely I have failed, I still have my daughter.”
“Not a failure, Maimon, and certainly not a test of you.” The god replied. “I triggered your mate’s birthing to test your fellow Sightless. They have all been punished for abandoning two of their own and an innocent so willingly to the wolves.” He put a hand on Maimon’s shoulder, and the weariness of travel left him, his eye finally seeing with perfect clarity. The god smiled.
“L… Lord Trace?”
“Your quest for salvation is over, Angel.” He said. “Your ties to Thrum are severed.”
The Angel nodded. “Who do I serve now, lord?”
He gave Purity’s head a gentle stroke. “Me.” He affirmed. “The first ever
Angel of Shadow.”