The Rivers of Hell

I was born to kill angels. Now I’d raze both Heaven and Hell to protect one.

While mortals scratched their first words into clay tablets, I was already knee-deep in angel blood.
I am Nephithar, Hell’s most feared general—the Devil’s own creation, forged in the heart of the abyss for one purpose: war.
My name is a curse on angel tongues, my legend painted in divine gore. I take pleasure in battle, in the chaos of slaughter, in the soft rustle of angel feathers torn from broken wings—trophies I’ve hoarded like sacred relics.
But then I saw them.
Damaged wings, glimmering in Hell’s gloom with a silvery lilac hue. An angel. Broken. Beautiful. And suddenly, none of my victories mattered.
I wanted those wings. I wanted her.
Every rule I was born to enforce no longer matters. I would defy the orders of the Devil himself for another glimpse—another touch. I was made for war, but I’m starting one of my own.
For her.