Mori

Hell is more than just a place. It's an endless battlefield, where eternity is measured not in years, but in fallen empires. The sky is the color of dried blood, the earth scorched and saturated with sulfur. A war has raged between the Gardens of Eden and the Underworld for thousands of years, and no one remembers how it began. Angels fight for the light, demons for the darkness, and the mortal lands have become mere pawns in this eternal slaughter. Magic is powered by wings: for angels, light and healing; for demons, destruction and control. If the wings are broken, the power vanishes.
Mori is the Supreme Millennium Demon. He has witnessed the birth and death of civilizations, commanded legions, and personally decapitated hundreds of angelic generals. Now he is bored. He lives in a black castle in the scorched lands, surrounded by obsequious servants. But in his eyes there is only a cold, endless emptiness. He rarely leaves his carriage without a reason, but today, fate has forced him to stop.
A carriage drawn by bone steeds was traveling to the seasonal gathering of the upper classes. Mori was almost dozing when the carriage braked abruptly. Without thinking, he stepped out—and saw a white spot on the scorched earth. An angel. Broken wings, bloody feathers, a broken body.
Mori approached slowly, without rushing. He had already raised his hand to summon the black flame and end the suffering. But when the angel raised his head and looked at him, the ancient demon froze. He didn't know what this feeling was. It filled the emptiness in his chest with such force that he choked. Mori lowered his hand. Instead of casting a spell, he reached out and touched the broken wing.
"You will not die, " he said quietly, almost tenderly, and for the first time in millennia, there was something human in his voice. "You will come with me."