A new magic awakened within him. One that had not existed before, but whose time had come.
His eyes flared with yellow lights, and his mouth opened wide, and a scream of incredible power burst from it. The scream of the banshee pierced the creature that had entwined him in its dark sorcery, lifted it into the air, and hurled it against the wall of the room. From the force of the impact, it fell apart into pieces, and now its torn remains were scattered across the floor of the chamber.
The Cursed rose to his feet, casting off the enchantment.
Suddenly all the windows flew open, and a cold frosty wind blew into the mansion. Numerous rasping sounds and whispers came from outside. The hands and heads of the dead appeared in the window frames. They were crawling into the rooms. Blue lights burned in their dark eye sockets, and they did not take their eyes off the warrior standing inside.
The first three dead broke through and rushed at the Cursed. He drew his sword and cut them down. The others kept forcing their way in through the windows.
The magic surged again. Large pale, wrinkled hands with long nails emerged, seizing the dead who had broken inside and tearing them apart. Then they slammed all the windows shut, and the dead outside fell silent.
The Cursed approached the window. The dead who had been outside were gone.
In their place, a tall warrior with gray hair stood on the plain, clad in ancient heavy armor. The Cursed knew he had been waiting for him.
He went downstairs and stepped outside. He crossed the grounds of the mansion and approached the ancient warrior.
His eyes burned with blue lights, and his skin was as pale as the snow surrounding them. The ancient warrior was dead.
He raised the ancient sword and charged at the one who had come. A terrible battle began. The huge ancient sword was flying over the Cursed, who was swiftly dodging. If not for his vampire speed, he would not have survived this battle. Around them rose a high wall of swirling snow. The ancient dead bared his teeth in a sinister grin. The swirling blizzard around them was draining strength and hindering movement. But the Cursed moved right up to the ancient dead. His head transformed into the terrible head of a wolf. He opened a huge fanged maw. Then he lunged forward and bit off the head of the ancient dead. He spat it onto the snow. The snowstorm vanished, and the dead man's head rolled across the ground.
On the nearest hills, ancient dead warriors emerged from behind the trees. On many of them, parts of the skin had been touched by decay. The ancient dead filled the hills within a gigantic semicircle. They stood and stared intently at the Cursed. Then they turned around and left.
The Cursed returned to the house.
A blue glow was burning in one of the rooms. He entered and saw a book lying on the table. On its cover, the inscription "Legends of the Ancient Lands" was engraved in iron letters.
The Cursed realized that the entrance to the Ancient Lands was finally before him.