In the cold expanse of space surrounding the contested plane that once belonged to the gluttony demon royal family, the fallen heavens and the undead abyss collided in an apocalyptic clash.
Swarms of fallen angels, their pristine white wings glowing with unholy radiance, descended in precise formations, their ranks led by a fearsome figure: Commander Serathion.
Serathion was no ordinary fallen angel. His six wings spanned an enormous breadth, their feathers shimmering like molten silver against the void. His eyes glowed with a pale, ethereal light, and his armor, inscribed with ancient glyphs, pulsed with holy energy twisted for destruction. Clutching a celestial spear that hummed with power, he surveyed the battlefield with an icy calm.
"Warriors of the broken light," Serathion bellowed, his voice resonating across the ether like a cathedral bell, "strike them down! Their filth taints this plane. Leave nothing standing!"
