The road to the top of the mountain, where the castle stood, was an ascent into the tyrant's lair. The Cursed went on foot. No living thing could survive here, and a horse would have died in vain.
Already in the first few feet of the path along the mountainside, powerful waves of pain passed through him. The pain grew, bringing with it inevitable death. The Cursed used the power of the vampire, and the pain receded, faded. He kept moving forward.
The howling of wolves sounded in the forest. But in truth, it was something worse. His hearing, heightened by his vampiric power, clearly distinguished that it was the howling of werewolves—terrible, starved.
Before his eyes, figures appeared, hovering in the air. A man and a woman. The man in a dark suit, the woman in a dark dress. The man held a sword; the woman—a staff with a crystal at its top. Their faces twisted into horrifying grimaces.
"Who are you?" the Cursed asked with disgust.
"We are the pain you rejected," the man replied in a hysterical voice. "You didn't want us to live inside you, and so we ended up outside. We will kill you."
They lunged at him, but were cut in two by the sword that appeared in the Cursed's hand.
One dark figure after another emerged before him. The men struck with swords, the women attacked with magic from their staves. The Cursed carved his way through them.
Ahead, he saw another battle. Someone with incredible strength and rage was tossing aside and destroying the figures of pain. They screamed and shrieked in hysteria, but helpless to do anything, they lost limbs and were then sliced into pieces. And they vanished into the air, breaking apart into particles.
The Cursed was surrounded by countless avatars of pain. Parrying their strikes while killing them at the same time was becoming increasingly difficult, even with the vampiric speed he used. The avatars of pain pressed him toward the edge of a chasm. Too many sorceresses swooped in, aiming their staves. They fired simultaneously. A blast of magic struck him and sent him sprawling backward. He fell into the chasm but managed to grab the edge with one hand.
The avatars of pain, in great numbers, loomed over him, their faces twisted in maniacal triumph. Only a few moments of life remained.
Then, suddenly, all the avatars of pain were swept away in the blink of an eye by one massive blade. Sliced into pieces, they screamed in despair as they dissolved into the air.
Above the Cursed loomed the Judge's evil face. She looked at him with burning, insane eyes. Several times her eyes shifted. From red to violet. Then to green. One strike of her sword, and his mission would be over. Too soon. Too suddenly.
The Judge stretched out her hand.
"The court has granted you the right to live. The sentence is to be carried out immediately," she said in a clear, cold voice.
He grabbed her hand and was instantly hurled onto the road. Her power was truly monstrous.
He looked at her. But she no longer paid him any attention. She continued toward the top of the mountain.
Now the two of them were making their way to the castle. Squads of avatars of pain surrounded them. They seemed insane in their attempts to stop the two mad ones, the strength of one striking like a force of nature, unstoppable by anyone or anything. She shattered concentrations of dark figures, sending them shrieking into the air. The rest slashed left and right with the massive blade, leaving behind only scattered traces of their ghostly existence.
The Cursed was pressed by superior numbers more than once. But each time, the hurricane-like force of her enormous sword—seemingly sensing his state and motion—broke through the enemies and mercilessly ended their existence, clearing the space around him. In such moments, he tried to catch the Judge's gaze, believing and hoping to see something human in her. But she seemed to notice nothing around her except the crushing and insane battle.
In front of the castle, hundreds of dark avatars of pain stretched toward each other, rising tens of feet into the air. Then they merged into a single massive dark figure, looming threateningly over the two travelers. Up to 300 feet tall. Its contours constantly shifted, as if unable to find rest.
In an instant, the gigantic dark figure bent and flew horizontally across the ground toward the two travelers. The Cursed struck with his sword, but the surging mass of darkness swallowed him. It grabbed him, spun him in a whirlwind of terror and death. The night lights disappeared from view. The weak moonlight in the sky dimmed. He was twisted and thrown through space several times, then found himself lying on the ground. The Judge lay close by, piercing the enemy with her sharp hateful gaze. The dark figure flew on and turned, preparing for another clash with them.
The Judge rose. She slammed her sword into its sheath. Closed her eyes. She stood straight and proud. Not shielding herself, not deviating from the path of the giant dark figure, which was charging at them again. The Cursed could not find the strength to rise.
Meanwhile, the dark figure collided with the Judge and completely engulfed her in its mass. The warrior vanished from sight. The gigantic dark figure swept over the Cursed lying on the ground. It stopped on the other side. For a moment, it hung motionless. Then suddenly it assumed a vertical position. Part of it twitched, as if in a fit of sickness or convulsions. It tore open at that spot, and from inside emerged the warrior with dark-red hair, the fierce gaze, and the great sword in one hand. She leapt down to the ground, her sword cleaving the already fracturing darkness in two. The Judge landed, falling from a height of 150 feet. She rose to her feet and watched in silence.
The gigantic dark figure was writhing in agony and breaking apart into fragments. The fragments were scattering in all directions and vanishing without a trace. After a while, no enemy remained.