At night, when they had gone to sleep, a swirling black darkness appeared above the Old Man’s bed. It hung in the air about three feet above him. The Old Man slept, unaware of what was happening. But the Cursed was ready. He lay on the floor and watched what was happening from behind the edge of the blanket.
The black darkness reached toward the Old Man with two black masses, seized him, and began pulling him toward itself. The Old Man awoke and cried out. The Cursed sprang forward and plunged into the black darkness at the same moment as the Old Man. The sword that instantly appeared in his hand pierced the unknown substance, but it no longer mattered. For suddenly the two of them found themselves in a dim stone corridor.
The Black Darkness seized them and dragged them along the corridor in some unknown direction. The Cursed continued striking the Darkness with his sword, but they were still carried relentlessly farther down the corridor.
The Black Darkness brought them into a vast hall, where in the center loomed a huge mass of swirling darkness. Several bright lights burned close to its surface. They drifted constantly, changing their positions upon the enormous dark form. The mass of darkness lay within a great well, around which, at equal distances from one another, stood figures in hooded robes. The great hall was illuminated by the ghostly blue light of unusual lamps set into the walls.
The black monster in the well began pulling the two captives into itself. The Cursed saw the Old Man sinking into its shapeless black mass, across which strange lights drifted. He felt himself beginning to disappear as well. And he understood that the time had come to change everything.
Another black darkness flared in his eyes. The new force arose in the great hall. It began tearing the black demon apart from within. The creature felt it. It shuddered and hurled the captives outward. They flew several dozen feet and fell onto the stone floor.
The black creature let out a wild demonic scream that made the entire gloomy palace tremble with all its secrets and hidden mysteries. The figures in hooded robes sprang into motion. They ran about in agitation. Black masses seized several of them, and with them the black creature plunged down into the well, vanishing deep within the most accursed depths of that place.
“Your fortune-teller lied to you,” the Cursed breathed. “Tonight death cannot catch you.”
“In truth, it has already caught me three times,” the Old Man replied, rising slightly. “But thanks to you, it went away like a filthy prostitute who didn’t get what she came for.”
They both laughed.
“Looks like the cosmos itself is protecting you,” said the Cursed.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“And you are its representative,” the Old Man replied.
“Let’s get out of here.”
They began ascending the stone stairs to the upper floors of the palace. Strangely, there were no guards anywhere.
In the large throne hall, someone sat on the throne at the far end. In the dim twilight filling the room, it was impossible to make out who it was. The Cursed left the Old Man against the wall for safety and moved deeper into the hall.
On the throne, with carved skulls on the armrests and the top of the seat, sat a man wearing a black feathered hat. A pale face. Black eyes. A mustache and a small beard. Dressed in a black doublet, trousers, and high boots.
He sat with a daring, provocative air, one leg crossed over the other.
When the Cursed approached, he deliberately spat at him with contempt—but missed.
"So, you’ve finally come. After ten long years," he said in a dissatisfied tone. "We all thought you were dead. Gone without a trace, like all your principles. Only the Demon King never believed it and was always on guard. Well, he’ll be pleased to learn once again that he was right when I bring him your head."
He leapt from the throne and descended several steps.
"Before you stands the Demon King’s favorite. Be terrified of my power. In the Dark Kingdom, no one equals me in the skill of fighting with bladed weapons. Now you will be killed."
A long rapier appeared in his hand out of nowhere, and he instantly launched into attack. He moved so fast it was impossible for the eye to follow. One moment he was standing by the throne, the next he was behind the Cursed. No ordinary warrior could have tracked his movements or caught him. The rapier lunged at the Cursed, threatening to pierce him through—but it was deflected by the sword that had appeared out of nowhere.
Two figures moved swiftly through the dim throne hall, trading blows. The Old Man watched the clash in horror. Here, in this fight, were inhuman speed and reactions. The figure of the Blademaster vanished and reappeared behind his opponent, delivering a strike—or several—that no ordinary eye could track. The figure in technological armor parried with his sword and responded with a flurry of strikes. But the Blademaster’s figure had already disappeared from view, appearing on the other side. This continued for some time.
The Cursed realized his opponent was far too fast. Far too fast. He had already inflicted several wounds on him. The Cursed tried using the Laughing Sorceress’s magic on him, but it could not seize such a lightning-fast figure in its grasp. A few swishes of air marked its misses, and the Blademaster laughed loudly.
"Your pathetic tricks won’t work on me, idiot!" he shouted. "I am above this. I am stronger than this. You will be destroyed."
He accelerated even further, moving faster than before. The Cursed received several more wounds and slowed.
The Blademaster appeared before him. His vile, pale face twisted in unnatural triumph.
He struck—but suddenly the medallion on the Cursed’s chest flared with bright light, searing the Blademaster’s eyes. Screaming wildly, he clutched at his eyes. The rapier vanished.
"What have you done, creature?! What have you done to my eyes?! I can’t feel them!"
The Cursed was before him in an instant. One powerful strike, and the head of the Blademaster—the Demon King’s favorite—rolled across the floor of the throne hall.
