The lands of Earth, lost to time long ago proceeding the fall of Humankind and, subsequently, the grassy plains of before. Now, the Satan-blessed remnants of Humanity rot and fester within their last bastions.

What stands before these remnants—referred to as "Rotlings"—and Heaven is a wasteland harboring its gates. Thick walls of the impenetrable stones of God rise high beyond the sky. They stare deftly in the face of sinners who exhausted their options forever ago, in favor of pursuing asinine avenues.

Ironically enough, however, Heaven is guarded by Rotlings clad in stainless gear unfit for those putrid carcasses. Leading the troupe of walking contradictions is Diligent, a figure whose pristine form clashes with the Rotlings greater than light against shadows.

Rotlings adorned in heaven-forged armor stand with straight backs in a horizontal formation behind their commander: Diligence. They silently stand on guard in front of the gargantuan gates.

"..."

Yet, as if oblivious to Diligence's abhorrence, a nameless Rotling is particularly restless thanks to the barren land around them and the deafening silence that echoes in the for-sure empty skull of his. The rancid husk steps forward with flair and, in one step, enters Diligence's personal space— A fatal error, on the cadaver's end.

"Don'tcha–like–got a checklist of who's s'posed to be delivering stuff? Why in God's name are we even out here—"

"Cease."

The Rotling isn't spared a single instant to compute his captain's command before finding himself impaled in one of the many giant, black metal spikes that line the wide road. Diligent doesn't even spare the should-be corpse a glance.

The commander's subordinates don't dare spare a look at their colleague, instead opting to stare straight ahead. The impaled doesn't let himself linger for a moment too long after getting revived by the Black Hand.