Virgil read Ren’s journal entry three times before finally setting the book aside. Ren was one of the most patient people Virgil knew. He supposed he could understand how a discovery of this magnitude would stretch even Ren’s patience, but there was something in the way he wrote that set off alarm bells in Virgil’s mind.

  Even more odd was the apparently free skill. Virgil had never heard of that happening, and while the System was new enough that a new discovery was not unheard of, it was odd enough that Virgil wanted to consider it further. He would have liked to check Ren’s status sheet and see if his Skill Points really did remain unchanged, or if it was some kind of hallucination.

  He couldn’t do that, of course. Because Ren was dead.

  Emotion threatened to rise back up. Surely he knew enough now to send the demon back to Hell?

  But if he cast the spell now, Virgil would be filling the magic with rage and grief. It felt like a flimsy excuse — but why would he be making excuses? Before the System, magic was fueled and shaped by intention. Mages had to spend years learning how to meditate and focus their mind and energy into the exact shape they desired. The advent of the System made such preparations unnecessary, but Ren had theorized that intention still made an impact, albeit an indirect one. He suspected that as a person cast and chose their skills, their intention influenced which skills the System later unlock for them.

  Maybe, in Ren’s honor, Virgil would be able to pursue that theory and prove it true.

  He blinked back his tears and closed the journal. To the demon, he said, “How was Ren’s Breathing skill free? I’ve never heard of anything like that happening before.”

  The demon lord’s swords twitched. When Cyrian spoke, it was as if through gritted teeth. “The skill was not free.”

  “Not free?” Virgil narrowed his eyes, wary of a trick. “Are you saying he was hallucinating?”

  Cyrian shook his head. “Another paid the price.” The demon’s body tensed like he was resisting something, then softened abruptly, and he relented. “The veil is thin between our worlds, but it is not gone. First a bridge must be proposed between our realms through energy; in this case, the skill point. Then it must be accepted on this side, by the purchase of the skill. Once the bridge is established, anyone can walk through.”

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  Virgil listened to the explanation with increasing alarm. Suddenly those reports of monsters appearing throughout Grimora did not seem so far-fetched. How many people had already been tricked into granting a demon passage into Grimora?

  A sudden realization stopped him short. He leaned back, suspicious. “I thought you didn’t have a System in Hell. How could you pay the skill point?”

  The demon shrugged. “A different sacrifice was made.”

  Virgil almost asked for more. What kind of sacrifice? What could a demon have to offer? But the truth was, he didn’t care. Hell’s troubles could be solved in Hell; he would focus on Grimora. “We have to put a stop to this.”

  The demon flinched. Virgil’s eyes narrowed.

  “You will help me,” he said, his voice suddenly cold.

  Demon Lord Cyrian hunched forward in a bow. “Yes, Master.”

  “Tell me,” Virgil demanded, “How can we prevent any more bridges between our realms?”

  “The bridges are only possible because of the System,” the demon said. A smug gleam cracked his subservient facade. “You humans, with your stats and skills, with your grasping for power, you opened your world up to us. Without the System, the veil would strengthen once more.”

  Virgil scowled. In every debate he had ever entered about the merits of the System, he had been on the side of support. The System was the great equalizer. It granted general access to magic, and as a result, greater understanding of what was possible. There were still some older people who remembered the days before the System, but most were like him: born into it. Losing his status sheet would be like losing an eye: he could still see, but his experience would lose depth.

  But the alternative was death. Demons were already slipping through the cracks. People were already dead.

  Virgil glanced at the graves of his two best friends. How many more would have to die before somebody did something? How many more would survive their fights, only to be tainted by Infernal Affinity and a devil’s skill?

  No more. He clenched his fists. This would be the end of it.

  He turned to Cyrian. “What do we do?” he asked. “How do we dismantle the System?”

  The demon lord straightened. “The precise workings of the System are beyond even my understanding,” he admitted. “It would be better to consult the architects, for they would surely know how to destroy that which they created.”

  Virgil took one last look at Ren’s family home. He promised himself that he would not return until the System was dismantled and the veil restored. Their deaths would not be in vain; he would not rest until he ensured it was so.

  “Let’s go, then,” he said. “I know where to find them.”