Zirinos felt the corruption before he saw it.
It was not a sound. Not a flash. It was a pressure behind the eyes, a weight in the chest, a taste of iron on the tongue. The corruption – the same that Tryni had implanted in his veins, the same that ran in Enyo – came from two sides at once. From the north, where the mountains of Lunos rose against the gray sky. From the south, where the sea kissed the deserted island of the second tier.
He stopped in the middle of the road.
Enyo, on his shoulder, squeaked – a sharp, frightened sound that echoed in the blue pines. Zirinos touched her head. The creature did not quiet. She trembled.
"What is it?" asked Lindériu, also stopping.
Zirinos did not answer. His eyes fixed on the northern horizon. The snow, which fell lightly there, seemed darker than the day before. The sky, always gray, had taken on a purple tone – an open wound in the firmament.
"Hell," said Zirinos, his voice low. "Has opened."
"Where? The first portal?"
"Both. The first and the second."
Lindériu tightened his hand on his sword. The blue and gold armor creaked with the cold.
"How do you know?"
"I feel it."
The saint looked at him. His tired green eyes lingered on Zirinos's face – on the pallor, the deep shadows under his eyes, the red gleam that seemed to dance in his pupils.
"Then you are a demon lord."
"I was made one. Not born. And don't tell anyone."
Lindériu did not answer. He only turned north, where the mountains were lost in the low clouds. The cold wind brought a smell of sulfur – faint still, but unmistakable.
"We'll close the portal," said the saint.
"You don't close a portal with a sword. And don't expect me to help you."
"Then what do we do?"
"We kill what comes out."
Zirinos began to walk. Not north. South.
Lindériu did not move.
"Where are you going?"
"South. To Decatry. To the academy."
"The first portal is to the north. The most powerful lords will come out of there. Tréyos. Trónnos. Trudar. If we don't stop them..."
"I won't stop them alone. Neither will you. No one will."
Zirinos did not stop. His boots sank into the packed snow. Enyo, now calmer, clung to his tunic.
"Your people," said Lindériu, behind him. "You're going to protect them."
"My people."
"Mira? Luna? Ethan?"
"Mira. Luna. Ethan. And the others."
Lindériu hesitated. His hand on his sword tightened, then loosened. The wind blew. The snow fell.
"I'll go north," he said finally. "Someone has to go."
"Go."
"Alone?"
"Alone."
The saint did not answer. He only turned and began to walk in the opposite direction. The blue and gold armor shone for an instant in the half-light, then disappeared among the pines.
Zirinos did not look back.
Enyo squeaked.
"Let's go," he said. "We have a long way."
The corruption grew. From the north, where the first portal gaped open. From the south, where the second portal vomited shadows.
Hell had opened.
+++
Far away, north of Lunos, the ice cracked.
The first portal of hell – the one that had been sealed for centuries, since Dennis Decatry killed Tryni – began to fissure. The runes carved into the stone, once bright, were now black, erased. The ice that covered the gash melted, dripped, evaporated.
The ground trembled.
Trees fell. Rocks split. Animals fled.
Tréyos came out first.
The lord of wrath was a mountain of flesh and bone, covered in scars that glowed with a red, pulsing light. His empty eyes surveyed the frozen landscape. His mouth, torn to his ears, showed yellow teeth.
"Where is Tryni?" he roared. His voice echoed in the mountains, cracking the ice on the cliffs.
No one answered.
Trónnos came out next.
He was shorter, thinner, but his eyes – his eyes shone with an avarice that hurt just to look at. His long, bony hands were empty. But everyone knew that what he touched ceased to belong to whoever it had belonged to.
"Tréyos," said Trónnos, his voice a whisper. "Calm down. Wrath doesn't win battles."
"Wrath destroys. It's more than you do."
Trudar came out last.
He walked slowly, with a slow, calculated step, as if the world were a carpet spread at his feet. His armor, black and shiny, had not a single scar. His face, beautiful and cold, showed a smile that did not reach his eyes.
"The two of you," said Trudar, looking around. "Arguing like children. Where is the king?"
"Tryni doesn't come out," replied Trónnos. "Yet."
"Then we command."
"We command all. Or none."
The three lords looked south. The corruption they felt came from two directions: from the first portal, behind them, and from the second, far, very far.
"The liar," said Tréyos. "Trussum. He's already out there."
"And the lust," added Trónnos. "And the envy."
"The weak," concluded Trudar, with disdain. "Always ahead."
The ice cracked. The demons began to come out – first a few, then by the hundreds. Small, large, formless. Some with claws, others with wings, others with mouths in their chests. The horde advanced south, toward the villages, toward the cities, toward the living.
Tréyos, Trónnos and Trudar stayed.
"Let's go," said Trudar. "Our kingdom awaits."
+++
In the south, the second portal also gaped open.
Trussum watched from the black cliff, his mutilated body shining in the red light of dusk. Treiza, leaning against a rock, smiled. Trainur, in silence, counted the demons that came out.
"The first portal has opened," said Trainur, his voice neutral.
"I know," replied Trussum.
"Tréyos, Trónnos and Trudar are out."
"I know."
"They're going to destroy everything."
"I know." Trussum turned. His blue eyes, scattered across his skin, fixed on Trainur. "That's what they're for."
"And us?"
"Us..." Trussum smiled. His torn mouth showed yellow teeth. "We wait. We let the older ones do the heavy work. Then... we clean up what's left."
Treiza laughed. The laugh was sweet, sharp, like breaking glass.
"The liar," she said. "Always lying. You know Zirinos is going to try to stop them."
"Zirinos is going to try to protect his people. It's different."
"And if he succeeds?"
"He won't succeed."
Trussum looked at the northern horizon. The corruption he felt was dense, heavy, like an invisible hand squeezing his chest.
"Tryni gave him power," murmured Trussum. "But he didn't give him wisdom. Fools die young."
The wind blew cold. The second portal vomited shadows. The lords of the first tier marched south.
Hell had opened.
And no one was ready.