Publisher's Synopsis
Monsters are made, not born...
Most called him the Jailor. Some called him a monster. If he had a name, nobody had survived meeting him long enough to tell it. They said he sat atop a mound of skulls and marked each death on his throne, like notches on a bedpost. Some tales told of how he had wings as dark as night, and of how he wore a crown of razor wire woven around four horns.
Dante had heard all the stories before.
The only tale he cared for was the one that said the jailor could bleed. If the jailor could bleed, then he could die, and Dante was going to be the one to finally kill him.
This is the story of how all those tales were wrong. And so was Dante.
