Barachiel: He is the head of all guardian angels and oversees their work protecting individuals but today he got fired and god gave him the boot because he decided to play by his own rules and not gods.

The Expelled captures the raw, chaotic aftermath of disobedience. These are the angels who defied the divine, shattered the rules, and were cast out, not with sorrow, but with fire in their veins. Each portrait is a fractured glimpse into their exile: faces fragmented by defiance, eyes multiplied like burdens they carry, halos crooked or burned away, wings clipped by consequence. Set against violent red, the color of fury, shame, and freedom, these figures stand as symbols of rebellion’s cost and strange beauty. Their fall from grace isn’t neat. It’s messy, unrepentant, and entirely their own. The Expelled isn’t about loss. It’s about what remains when heaven spits you out: identity forged in ruin, power claimed in the wreckage, and the haunting glory of those who refused to bow.