• Heat overwelmed the factory workers tempting them to flinch as it roared. It spat at them laughing coldly at there attempts to get close. A small pulmp man stared from afar. Inside his soul reflected the cold laughing of the fire. He took everything in. Exsauted spirts. Broken bodies. Weary minds. To them it was hell. Two men coming crossing the mans paths whisperd. "This fire reminds me of a demon."
    "Here comes the real demon," replied his partner. He glared at them. Realsing they sprinted out of the way. Like hares. He turned towards the fire. A few years ago he had got to close. Part of his ginger coulred mustache was burned. At that moment he had corrupted the fire. He had corrupted it. Above ground it was the polar opposite. Snow coverd the ground. Snowflakes clung to the clothes of workers. They weren't just coverd with snowflakes though. But also with sweat. Still they were frozen. Unlike the fire were you could be weary and avoid it's fingers you couldn't avoid the ice. It always caught you. Pollar oposites. Versions of hell. The final level stacked on top of the gate. A burnt heart and an icy body.