The king rode his horse, the cold seeping into his bones despite the heavy armor. His hand trembled as he gripped the reins, but he tried to conceal it. There was no time for weakness now.
His polished armor reflected the eerie glow of the terrifying storm above them. A faint lightning flash outlined the edges with each passing second, as though the sky itself was warning of something approaching.
One of the soldiers muttered as he fastened his sword at his side: "I swear, I've never seen the sky like this... It feels like it's hiding a monster at its core."
Another soldier responded in a shaky voice, sitting tall on his horse: "This isn't just any storm... it's the silence that scares me... Storms usually scream, but this one... it just watches us."
A third soldier laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and void of life: "They say the wind before disaster... is cold enough to kill."
Their leader, walking with heavy steps, approached them. He glanced at them for a moment before whispering with grim seriousness: "Steady your hearts... everything after this will change... anyone who survives tonight will never be the same again."
The soldiers exchanged looks... some swallowed their fear in silence, while others gripped their reins tighter, their knuckles turning white.
Then one whispered at last, staring into the darkening sky: "God, make us among the survivors..."
And they rode on... Amid the whispers of fear... the neighing of horses... and the cold wind biting their faces as if it was bidding them farewell.
At the front of the army, the king looked ahead, his eyes burning with unyielding determination, but deep inside, he questioned himself: Am I truly ready? Will I be able to protect them?
"Sire, the city... it's collapsing," said one of the officers beside him, his face smeared with mud from the road and ash from the fires.
The horses galloped swiftly through the muddy roads, kicking up dust and water with every step, the sound of hooves blending with the cries of the wind. Some soldiers fixed their eyes forward, while others kept glancing up at the sky, where the tornado was rising and stretching.
"Is this the end of the world?" A young soldier at the back shouted, but another officer barked at him: "Silence, stay in line!"
Amidst all this, the king saw the tragic sight of his city. Children were crying incessantly, stumbling behind their mothers. Women screamed their loved ones' names, their voices cutting through the air like knives in living flesh. As for the men, they stood like ghosts, staring at the sky with wide, bloodshot eyes, as though they had witnessed something no human should ever see.
"Did you see that?! There's something in the clouds!" "No, it's not something... it's eyes... eyes staring at us!" "Quiet!" The officer's voice cracked with tension, but he held his composure.
Yet the king didn't stop. He gripped the reins tightly, nearly crushing them, as if trying to assert his existence — to hold on to the truth in a world beginning to lose its shape. Stay strong... not for me, but for all of them.
"Your Majesty..." The captain of the guard spoke softly as he walked beside him, "If we arrive too late, there may be nothing left to protect."
His eyes were fixed ahead. The heart of the city... where it all began. Where the eyes gathered... where hell itself had breathed its first breath.
With each step, the chaos grew louder. Screams rose, smoke billowed from the alleyways, people running, falling, stumbling over each other. And fear... fear was a living thing, walking with them, whispering in their ears, pressing on their hearts.
Hell was approaching... and I was at its forefront.
But, amidst the turmoil, a heavy silence fell. It was not a natural silence, but one that felt as though the very oxygen was being drained from the air.
"Stop..." said one of the riders softly, his eyes still fixed on something ahead of them.
The king suddenly pulled on the reins, the sharp sound of hooves halting in the muddy ground. His hands trembled for a moment — not from the cold, but from a raw, primal sense of danger.
One of the soldiers beside him muttered, as if in disbelief: "Is that a demon?"
One of the soldiers stopped abruptly, staring at the creature, then whispered: "It looks like... my grandfather?"
Everyone turned to him in confusion.
But when the king looked again, for just a second, he saw strange wrinkles on the creature's skin, resembling the face of an old man… before they disappeared.
There, at the crossroads leading to the central square, stood a monstrous, deformed being, as if it hadn't been born of this world.
The king gasped involuntarily. The scent of burning flesh and coagulated blood reached his nose, despite the wind, and an odd heat seeped beneath his armor.
"Damn it... this is not like the others..." Those were the words of the captain beside him, instinctively placing his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Behind the creature, shadows began to shift. More creatures crawled forth, twisted and deformed, each one telling a different story of torment.
A young soldier, no more than twenty, began to step back, whispering to himself: "Mother... please forgive me..."
Despite everything, the king did not allow his feet to retreat. He tightened his grip on the reins and then shouted in a loud voice:
"Hold steady! Do not fear! This is our land, and we are the ones who protect it!"
But deep inside, something else whispered:
It smiles... this creature smiles at me... as if it knows me... as if it knows this day has been written long ago.
And when his eyes met the creature's gaze, he felt as if time itself stopped for a moment. There was a message in that look, a message that couldn't be spoken... but it was clear:
You're too late. It has already begun.