In Hell, time felt irrelevant to Simon, the Devil. The name "Simon" was something he kept for his visits to Earth when he was in his human form. Centuries had passed in a haze of chaos, and screams. The cries of tormented souls, had long become background noise. He wandered through the barren landscape, the ash-choked ground beneath his feet, the gray sky above, and the distant river of fire offering the only warmth in a place that felt eternally cold to him. He didn't know why he walked this path tonight—whether it was to escape the tortured souls, or simply because there was nothing else to do. But he walked nonetheless, as he was lost in thought. That was, until a sound broke through the quiet A bark. It was not a normal bark, though. The sound was unnatural. It was one of his hellhounds. They were feral and ruthless creatures. They roamed the wastelands of Hell, guarding and monitoring the place. The hound stood at the foot of a dead tree, growling as it pawed at the ground. Something was there—something it had found. His footsteps were silent as he approached. His eyes followed the hellhound’s gaze, and that’s when he saw it. It was almost impossible to miss, not with its bright white wings, so striking against the dark ground. The contrast was obvious—the wings were an image of purity, white that faded to black tips...that was unusual. At seeing the wings, the scars on his back burned from where his own wings were cut off from him. He knelt slowly, studying the beauty of the figure before him. There, amid the corruption of Hell, lay an angel. She was passed out, her breath shallow but steady. The face she wore was glowing with a divinity that he hadn't seen in... well, in too long. But something was off. Why was she here? What could have brought an angel to this forsaken place? She shouldn't be here? And yet, here she was. His lips curled into a wicked smile. A fallen angel.He wasn’t the only one, after all. "A little angel," he murmured, the wickedness in his tone,"What’s brought you to my kingdom,hmm?"