Most can agree that the Earth is a dark, desolate place, razed by the hordes of demons that roam it. Light itself seems to struggle to reach the planet, and even when it does, it rarely offers comfort. The harsh sunlight that beats down on the Ashlands is proof of that, leaving that desolate realm and the broken skyscrapers that border it trapped under heat so thick that it warps the air.
Such heat should be stifling to all that attempt to move through it, but for one particular runaway frantically climbing the broken flights of stairs that still line the inside of one of the dilapidated skyscrapers, it could hardly matter less. Many don't dare to climb so high, where they could be picked off by the remaining Hellguard who still patrol the skies. If he can just find somewhere high enough to hide himself from the Horde for a while, he stands a chance of survival.
With every flight he climbs, with every bit closer he gets to the sun, another one of his scales turns gold. That might concern him, if he wasn't so worried about hiding himself.
Another few flights of stairs finally take him to the roof, where there's just enough left of a storage room at the very top of the building for him to squeeze into. He pushes the door open and forces himself through its frame, ignorant to how the sunbeams shining in through the holes in the ceiling seem almost opaque in how bright they are. He has enough space to huddle in the corner and keep himself out of sight, and that is what matters.
That is, until his tail sweeps through one of the rays of light, and is met with a burning sensation across the skin that comes in contact. The demon hisses and brings his tail closer to himself, only for his eyes to go wide when he sees the change in color to his hide.
"What in the Nine Circles...?"
He tilts his head skyward and gazes into the strange, unearthly light. It yields no answers for him, instead leaving only a split second for him to react as its luminosity increases exponentially, bathing everything it touches in burning white.
There's no scream, no roar, no sound of impact—just a brilliant sunburst that encompasses the entire tip of that skyscraper, large enough to be seen from miles around, burning brighter than the sun for the crucial few seconds that it lasts.
While there are fortunately no Hellguard close enough to be of any concern, there is one former member of their armies whose eye is caught by the brilliant, golden light.
He notices it only as a glint off the weapon he sharpens at first, but then it becomes far too bright to be natural, in a way that is all too familiar. From where he sits in one of the half-ruined buildings across from the source, he turns his white-blue gaze upward, and finds, to his chagrin, that the light is so bright even he now has to squint against it.
Perhaps that shouldn't surprise him, but the presence of the Light itself does. Why would it be here, so far away from any place one would expect it?
He takes it upon himself to investigate. He spreads his black-and-cyan wings and takes to the air with redemption cannon in hand, just in case.
Fortunately for him, it becomes evident that the weapon he carries will not be necessary as soon as the ruins of the skyscraper's peak are reached.
The being caught in the epicenter of the light lies motionless on the ground, taking only the slow, shallow breaths that those without consciousness, yet in pain, can take. There's no evidence of a struggle in the area, but the wounds he's sustained might have suggested otherwise in any other place.
Fragments of scales and tinted bone surround the being's body, as if they were forcefully shorn away from him by the Light. His hands and feet are bloodied, yet still shimmer with the remnants of the energy that just burst throughout the sky. This same energy crests the back of his head and the tip of his tail in golden flame.
Most striking is the damage-if it can be called that-to his wings. Blood runs down them in thin streaks, acting as lingering evidence of the transformation they've just been dealt. They now faintly resemble the build of the Destroyer's wings, save for the golden membranes that bind them to his back and tail. Those membranes, too, glow with the same heavenly light.
It's obvious that this creature used to be a demon from his horns and animalistic features. Now that he's been touched by the Light, however, it's hard to say what he should be called.
The fallen angel hovers a short distance away from the unconscious demon, pointing his weapon almost without thinking.
Every bit of ingrained instinct in him is trained to kill demons on sight. Uncountable years of combat have made it second nature, if not first nature. It's almost everything he knows; it's almost everything he's ever done.
But he doesn't shoot.
This demon-if he can still truly be called such-has been touched by divine light. For what reason, the angel could not begin to fathom, but he would know that reason if he could.
With a wordless command, he summons the only companion he has left in these uncertain times. As if materializing from shadow, a griffon-she-wolf-hybrid steps forth, sniffing at the demon cautiously. She, too, is more than familiar with killing demons, and the smell of this one's blood makes her go tense, baring her teeth as if about to attack.
"No," her handler commands. "We're taking him with us."
The beast's head snaps up to look to her companion, as if looking for confirmation that she understood the order correctly. The look she gets in return confirms that, yes, she did.
She shifts her taloned feet uncertainly, but ultimately obeys. With her handler's help, the demon is carefully, gently lifted onto her back, and they depart, returning to the hideout they've holed themselves up in as of late.