When the grass and living trees disappeared, he realized he had stepped into the territory of yet another cursed place.
Ahead lay a large city. The Cursed walked along the road that led to it. On both sides of the road stood rows of wooden panels, from which iron chains hung. Farther beyond the panels were abandoned houses. Half-ruined, leaning.
The danger came suddenly. The Cursed only had time to feel it when strangers in black masks and black leather clothing burst out from the panels. In both hands they gripped dark-colored swords. They lunged at the Cursed from all sides. A few more moments—and he would have been finished.
But a dark cloud of smoke exploded around him and hurled the attackers away with force. They were thrown in different directions. Some were torn apart. None of them rose again. About 30 attackers were destroyed.
The Cursed turned his head toward the abandoned houses. Someone had set an ambush for him right in the settlement outside the city walls. He noticed one building—the largest of them all. A dark road led to it past half-ruined fences.
As he approached the house, several more killers in black masks leapt at him from behind the side fences. He killed them with a few strikes of his sword.
Then he entered the house. Silence and darkness filled the place. He slowly looked around in the dark. His vampire eyes saw everything. Then his gaze slid upward, to where the staircase led to the second floor. Something hostile and otherworldly was waiting for him there.
He began to climb the wooden stairs, carefully avoiding the holes that had formed over time. On the steps, dark figures with swords kept appearing and attacking him. He parried the blows or dodged and cut them down with his blade, after which they vanished without a trace. With each step, he drew closer to his goal.
In the room upstairs stood a tall dark figure in a hat and a long coat. Its hands were hidden behind its back.
When the Cursed entered, the stranger raised his head and stared at him from beneath the hat with burning red eyes.
"Who are you?" the warrior asked.
"The one who will kill you," the stranger replied.
From behind his back, a mass of tentacles emerged, shooting toward the Cursed. But they slowed down and froze a few inches from his face. For a moment, they stood facing each other.
Then a great force struck the masked stranger, flinging him aside and leaving him split in two on the floor. Black blood was pouring from his shattered body. The Cursed stood over him.
"We were sent by the Demon-King to kill you," the man on the ground said in a weakening voice. His black mask cracked, revealing a face disfigured by unknown tools or sorcery. "We are Hunters of the Traitors. But this time we have failed. That means next time…"
"There won't be a next time, scum," the Cursed said.
The Hunter at his feet died.