Chapter 95: Hell Gate, Part 1
Kristof smelled it even before he felt it: blood and sulfur and the sour-sweet tang of magic, a hint of hot-metal that always spoke of demons and hellish magic. The pain followed shortly after, as acute and miserable as goblin rot. The tea was still working, but he could already feel it dulling.
Cresting the hill, he stared down at all that remained of the Hell Gatea burning orange-red circle that looked like it was made from glowing coals. A few patches had dulled, would soon darken completely, but it would be at least a day before the broken gate dissipated completely. No wonder Håkon had been completely wiped; the damned thing was large enough to cram fifty or so men inside.