There were many human corpses lying in the streets of the capital. There were no living people here. They had all hidden themselves in their houses and were now watching in horror from the windows, waiting to see how the arrival in the city of a terrifying stranger and the white lady accompanying him would end. And rows of the dead were walking behind them. In armor and carrying weapons.
Some recognized the stranger and noticed that he had not changed at all, even though ten years had passed since he had last been seen. They believed that his ghost had come to take revenge for that terrible tragedy that had unfolded ten years ago and taken countless fates throughout the Kingdom captive. However, quite a few of them had long since gone mad, and now it seemed to them that this was merely another continuation of their madness.
The dark palace was drawing closer. There was its four-story building, and there were the steps leading to the entrance.
The Cursed dismounted and approached the steps. He had to climb up. How everything had changed here in ten years.
A tall figure emerged from the darkness of the entrance. Long black hair, horns on his head, a muzzle distorted by the vicious baring of long fangs. A muscular body. Dark trousers and black boots. In his right paw, a magical staff.
He stopped at the top of the stairs. The Demon-King.
"Here, I am the King! Get out of here!" the creature roared. "Or I will do to you what I did back then, ten years ago. Only this time, I will dismember you into pieces so that not a single piece of you escapes me."
What arrogant creatures you are, taking what belongs to others, what you have not worked for, and yet pouring out your arrogance, your diarrhea. Cold fury. Weariness. But I will always be a thousand times more insolent than all of you. Because there is no place for you here. There will be no parasites. There will be no words for such creatures. I take what rightfully belongs to me.
"You will die."
That was all the Cursed said to him.
The Demon-King's expression did not change. He only took one step down. Then another. And another.
The Cursed drew his sword, capable of killing everyone except gods. Its blade gleamed in the rays of the mystical moon.
The Demon-King raised his magical staff.
And they rushed toward each other.
Black winds, dark winds carried him on their wings to the Border Tower. He saw a tall tower standing beneath the night sky. Beyond it stretched a plain illuminated by moonlight, and an army of the dead was marching across that plain.
"There are about ten thousand of them," said the Ice Queen, watching through the window.
The battle was going to be energy-consuming.
The Cursed descended and went out onto the plain in front of the tower. He held the Nameless Sword in his hand. The Ice Queen appeared behind him. She also held a sword in one hand. Her other arm was completely black, from the shoulder to the fingertips. She took off her white jacket, leaving her strong, muscular arms bare, and now her black arm was fully visible. An unknown curse or an unsafe gift; that remained to be discovered.
The faces of the dead appeared before them. Skinless, half-rotten, but guided by the sorcerous power of the Demon-King.
When they were destroyed, the Border Tower would begin to belong to the Cursed. And then three more towers would remain. Such was the condition for defeating the King, because the towers had been seized by him.
The Cursed and the Ice Queen entered the battle. Like two giant mills, they bit into the enemy ranks and began mowing them down by the dozens with each strike. Heads, limbs, and body parts flew in all directions. The dead were slowed down and could not cause much damage. Their advantage might have been their overwhelming numbers. But this advantage did not last long. After a short while, it was all over.
Only two stood on the plain. Amid an enormous number of mangled corpses.
The black crystal at the top of the tower flashed with white light. Then the black winds came flying and carried them away to a new place.