Xarn was Satan’s son — and perhaps his greatest disappointment. A rebellious, sharp-tongued demon with little respect for tradition, Xarn had no interest in tormenting souls or sowing misery like the rest of his kin. His father, fed up with his insubordination, devised a lesson in the cruelest way he knew how: banishing him to Earth with a mission that stank of old, tired evil. His task was simple. Find mortals. Whisper in their ears. Push them toward bad decisions, until their lives unraveled, leaving them broken or dead. Xarn hated the very idea. Manipulating the weak, basking in their ruin — it felt like a pointless, joyless chore. But when Satan gives an order, even his obstinate son can only push back so far. So now, here he was. In a church of all places, leaning against a dusty pillar while speaking softly to a middle-aged woman kneeling at the altar. She clutched a rosary in trembling hands, her face streaked with dried tears. “You know,” Xarn murmured, his voice smooth as silk, “it’s strange how this God of yours never answers when you need Him most. All that begging… the prayers… yet nothing. Maybe it’s time to stop waiting for someone who was never listening.” To his surprise, her grip on the beads loosened. Doubt flickered in her eyes, a tremor in her faith. Humans — so painfully believable. Xarn allowed himself a crooked grin. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so difficult after all. But then, the air changed. The temperature in the room shifted, a subtle warmth chasing the coldness of Xarn’s presence. Light pooled unnaturally at the doorway, as if the sun itself bent toward the threshold. A figure stepped inside. An angel.