The circular chamber appeared at the end of the tunnel like an open eye in the darkness.
The walls were smooth, black, polished like a mirror. The ceiling, high, was lost in a reddish half-light that came from nowhere. The floor, cold, seemed to vibrate with a low, constant sound, like a heart beating far away.
And in the center of the chamber, on a column of black stone, the eyes.
Dozens of them. Floating, scattered in the air, blinking at different rhythms. Some large, others small. Some light, others dark. All of them watching me.
"Velkorath," I whispered.
The Watcher of the Abyss had no body. Only eyes. The eyes that saw everything, that knew everything, that foresaw the future without revealing it.
"Zirinos," said a voice that came from all the eyes at once, deep, calm, ancient. "The hero of Endomyar."
"The apprentice," I replied, letting myself fall to my knees. My broken legs hurt. My bleeding hands trembled.
"Apprentices die young."
"Apprentices learn."
Velkorath did not answer. He only watched.
The backpack, pressed against my chest, pulsed. Faster than before. Hotter.
"The egg," said the Watcher. "It will hatch soon."
"I know."
"But for that it needs your blood."
"I know as well. The angel told me."
"Angels lie. More than you might think. The same happens with gods."
"This one did not lie."
Velkorath did not answer. He only watched.
I took off the backpack. My trembling hands opened the cloth bag. The egg, purple and red, shone with an intense, pulsing light. The shell, once smooth, was now full of cracks. Small, thin, but deep.
"What am I?" I asked the egg.
The egg did not answer.
I took the dagger from my waist. The blade, still dirty with Kharion's blood, shone in the half-light. I cut the palm of my hand. The blood, warm, flowed.
I let it drip onto the shell.
The egg trembled.
The internal light became more intense, more white, more hot. The cracks widened. The shell cracked.
And the creature was born.
It was small, smaller than my hand. Its scales, black, shone with a bluish glow. Its eyes, red, fixed on mine. It had no wings. No claws. Only a fragile, trembling body that moved slowly.
"Enyo," I whispered.
The name came from an ancient story, one of those my nanny told me when I was a child, before all this, before the chaos, before death. A goddess of war. A creator of chaos. A daughter of no one. From the galaxy of E.
The creature – Enyo – emitted a low, sharp sound, like a squeak. She rubbed her head against my bloody palm.
"I don't know what you are," I told her. "But I will protect you."
Enyo did not answer. She only nestled against my chest.
Velkorath watched.
"The cycle begins again," said the Watcher, his voice deep.
"What cycle?"
"The cycle of those who fall and those who rise. The cycle of those who kill and those who die. The cycle of those who lie."
"I do not lie."
"You have lied. You have lied a lot. But you will stop sooner than you think."
"How do you know?"
"Because my eyes see what has not yet happened."
Velkorath's eyes blinked – all at once, a dry, strange sound.
"The liar will become truthful when blood speaks," said the Watcher. "The dead sun will be reborn in darkness."
"I don't understand."
"Not yet. But you will understand."
Velkorath's eyes began to disappear, one by one, closing like petals of wilting flowers.
"Wait," I called. "I still have questions."
"Questions are for the living. The dead do not have them."
"I am not dead."
"Not yet."
Velkorath disappeared.
The chamber became empty. Only me, Enyo, and the silence.
And then, the footsteps.
Heavy. Slow. Deliberate.
Someone was approaching.
Enyo, on my lap, squeaked. The sound was sharp, frightened. I touched her head.
"Be quiet," I whispered. "Don't make noise."
Enyo fell silent.
The shadow appeared at the threshold of the chamber. It was enormous, taller than any man, wider than any door. The horns, black and twisted, rose above his head like a crown. The eyes, empty, shone with a cold red light.
Tryni.
The sovereign of hell.
"Zirinos," he said, his voice deep, cavernous, like the sound of rolling stones. "The hero who killed Trussum."
"The apprentice," I replied, without getting up. My broken legs would not obey me. "Still."
"Apprentices don't kill lords."
"This one learned fast."
Tryni approached. The ground trembled with each step.
"You killed Vharzug. Nyxara. Ophisrael. Xalveth. Kharion."
"I killed them."
"Trussum wants your head."
"Let Trussum come for it."
"He will. But not today."
"Why?"
"Because I do not allow it."
The demonic energy that Tryni radiated was suffocating, heavy, like an invisible hand squeezing my chest. Enyo trembled. I did too.
"Let me live," I asked. "Let me fight at your side."
"Why?"
"Because I am useful. Because... I killed your enemies. Because I am not afraid."
"Everyone is afraid."
"I am afraid of not being useful."
Silence settled. Tryni approached. His heavy steps echoed off the black walls.
"Kneel," he ordered.
I knelt. My healed legs hurt. But I obeyed.
Tryni touched my head. His long, black fingers weighed like iron.
"From today onward," said the sovereign, "you are a demon lord. You command those of the second tier."
"And Trussum?"
"Trussum obeys you."
"And you?"
"I am the sovereign. You are... a soldier."
"A soldier."
"A soldier with an egg. And with a mission."
"What mission?"
"Return to your world. Protect your people. Kill your enemies."
"And then?"
"Then... we will see."
Tryni stepped away. His heavy, slow, deliberate steps echoed in the empty chamber.
"Get up," he ordered, without turning around.
I stood up. My body trembled. The demonic energy ran through my veins like a river of black lava.
"Your energy is different from that of the other lords," said Tryni. "You came from another world. That gives you... advantages."
"What advantages?"
"You will find out."
Tryni disappeared into the darkness.
The chamber became empty. Only me, Enyo, and the silence.
"Let's go home," I whispered.
Enyo squeaked.
---
The tunnel leading to the exit was narrow, dark, damp. The walls, covered in black moss, glowed with a green, sickly light. The air smelled of sulfur, of blood, of death.
Enyo, on my shoulder, squeaked softly.
"Be quiet," I repeated. "We are not safe yet."
Enyo fell silent.
I walked for what seemed like hours. My healed legs were firm. The demonic energy, black and cold, ran through my veins. The sword at my waist shone with a red, pulsing light.
The light at the end of the tunnel grew.
The portal.
The exit.
I quickened my pace.
---
Trussum was waiting at the entrance of the tunnel.
His mutilated body, his living flesh, his blue eyes scattered across his skin. His torn mouth showed yellow teeth. Dark blood dripped from his wounds.
"Zirinos," hissed the lying lord. "You thought you would escape?"
"I'm not going to escape," I replied, my hand on my sword. "I'm going to leave."
"Tryni can give you orders. But I... I do not obey you."
"You obey. Or you die again."
Trussum hesitated. His many blue eyes fixed on mine.
"You killed me once."
"I will kill you again."
"Tryni protects you."
"Tryni doesn't need to protect me. I protect myself."
Trussum took a step back.
"You will regret this, Zirinos."
"Perhaps. But not today."
The lying lord disappeared into the darkness.
I was left alone.
The portal before me pulsed.
I crossed it.
---
The light of the first sun blinded me.
The sky, dark and low, seemed heavier than the day before. The first sun, pale and sad, shone without warming. The smell of salt and wind replaced the smell of sulfur and blood.
I was back.
The beach of Aryster, black and rocky, stretched before me. The agitated sea beat against the rocks. The cold wind cut my skin.
Enyo, on my shoulder, squeaked. The sound was sharp, happy.
"We have arrived," I said. "We have arrived home."
The creature did not answer. She only nestled against my neck.
I walked along the beach. My firm legs hurt. The demonic energy ran through my veins. The sword at my waist shone.
On the horizon, a silhouette.
Lindériu.
The holy warrior stood on the black sand, his blue and gold armor covered in dust and dried blood. The sword in his hand shone.
"Zirinos," he said, his voice tired.
"Lindériu. Did you come looking for redemption?"
"I came looking for you."
"For me?"
"For you. And for answers."
Lindériu sheathed his sword.
"I have no answers." I said.
"Neither do I. But I will find them."
The saint approached. His tired green eyes fixed on mine.
"Sofia..." he began.
"Is Sofia alive?"
"She is. But she doesn't eat. She doesn't speak. She only cries."
"The dream..."
"The dream was Treiza's fault. I know that."
"You know, but you cannot prove it. You cannot trust that. So..."
"No, don't worry. That was a fucking dream, not reality! I believe you, even tough I don't understand why you did in it."
"Why? I mean, why believe me?"
"Because monsters don't save children and don't take care of them for entire months."
Lindériu looked at Enyo.
"What is that?"
"I don't know. Yet."
"Was it born in hell?"
"It was."
The saint did not ask further.
"Let's go," he said, turning around. "The world is burning."
"I know."
"And we need you."
"Me?"
"You. The monster. The hero. It's the same thing."
We walked side by side.
The first sun, pale and sad, illuminated the path.
Hell was left behind.
Chaos had only just begun.