The vampire women hovered in the air, striking from both sides. He parried and struck back. They were strong, but he was stronger. The vampire he had slain in the forest tavern was more ancient than these warriors.
Sensing this, and after sustaining wounds, they changed tactics.
"He takes everything, but his power also belongs to us!" the blonde shouted, laughing mockingly.
She raised her hand and cried:
"Black mists, come! Take what is rightfully yours!"
Black mists appeared around them, walling off the three fighters in a spectral, impenetrable barrier.
The Cursed felt his legs and body burning, his strength slipping away as he sank into it, pressed by the dual assault of the monsters, who had doubled their onslaught. Furious, savage faces hovered before his eyes, blazing with triumph. The vampire women began to gain the upper hand over him.
Deciding to break the uneven fight and push instantly through the black mist, he slid into it. But he could not exit the other side. The black mist seemed endless. Black warriors emerged from it, raised their swords, and attacked him. He fought his way through them—first row, second row, third. Somewhere in the depths of the dark sorcerous vortex stood a tall, sinister figure—ten feet tall.
The Cursed advanced directly toward it. He deflected the black bolts of lightning with his sword. The blade could not withstand it and shattered into ringing fragments. He formed a new blade. The medallion on his chest burned with a steady light. Like a star lighting the way and repelling enemies with magical force. He deflected the black lightning with the blade once more. And again. The sword blade was now burning with the same light as the medallion. He surged forward, sprang upward, and drove the blade straight into the Black Lord's throat. The Black Lord rasped, spewed a surge of black blood, and grabbed the blade with his armored gauntlets. But it was too late. With a low rumble, he collapsed to the ground. The black host around them faltered. The black mists dispersed.
The Cursed found himself lying on the stone floor. The two vampire women lay nearby, immobilized, crushed, bloodied—by their own blood.
The blonde looked at him.
"Cursed… freed… inseparable even in death…" Tears welled in her eyes. She reached out toward him with her hand, its nails long and black. She touched his. They looked into each other's eyes for an eternity. Then she turned to ash. So did her sister. Two piles of ash, scattered by a fresh wind that came out of nowhere.
The Cursed rose to his feet. By his senses, midnight had come. Black blood filled the castle walls, rising to the stone vaults.
The door to the great hall of the Red Castle opened. No one stood in the doorway—only the darkness of the corridor behind it.
But the Cursed sensed someone had arrived.
A black figure in a wide-brimmed hat and long coat stood to his side. The Cursed turned and met the gaze of a new monster. From beneath the shadow of the hat, its eyes burned with red fire.
The Cursed lunged toward him and was suddenly right beside him. But he was already gone.
The Cursed rushed out of the hall, but through the doorway hordes of large black rats were already pouring in. All of them had red eyes. They instantly filled the space, and the Cursed headed in the opposite direction. He spotted a staircase leading up to the next floor of the castle.