In the grim, viscous air, saturated with the miasmas of ancient creatures, the posed question hung. The ancient demon was mentally perplexed by the fact that the one who had made a pact with the Sleeping Demons had come to kill it. The question sounded: why?
Then massive tentacles shot toward him. But the Cursed was no longer there. A terrible battle with the ancient demon had begun.
The Cursed, sword in hand, moved swiftly between the striking tentacles. He intended to reach the demon's numerous eyes and blind it.
From the dark burrows behind him, streams of black smoke poured forth. They were quickly filling the hall. They blocked vision. They choked. They were turning him into easy prey for the giant tentacles.
The Cursed rushed into one of the burrows and began delivering relentless sword strikes inside. Heart-rending shrieks came from the dark hole. The demon groaned behind him.
The Cursed darted to the next burrow and continued killing another creature, while simultaneously evading the blows of the tentacles. This went on until all the creatures inhabiting the burrows breathed their last.
The demon at the center of the dungeon let out a long, muffled howl and went still. Its massive body split in two, and green slime poured out of it.
The Cursed climbed the steps upward.
In the hall with the pool, all the undead lay on the floor. Even the heavily armed guards. In the most unnatural positions. As if a terrible calamity had caught them off guard. No one floated on the surface of the pool. The Cursed approached its edge and saw that the morbid nobleman—or what remained of him—lay at the very bottom.
The double doors of the hall swung open, and the mage with the dark face entered. He snapped his fingers, and black figures armed with black swords appeared in the hall. Black figures with membranous wings formed in the air.
"Your mortal hour has come," the mage declared, and with a single gesture of his hand sent his servants forward.
His monstrous creatures lunged at the hero. The Cursed found himself in the thick of the battle, fending off the numerous forces of the enemy. When the black warriors and flying beasts fell dead, the mage sent the next wave of opponents. Large black monsters. The Cursed destroyed one wave after another. Then he began to retreat.
The mage conjured four new waves of creatures at once. With a gesture, he sent them forward.
The Cursed's sword vanished from his hand. His eyes filled with darkness. Thick streams of black smoke poured in from all sides, engulfing the black monsters. Cries and screams of dying creatures echoed. The magic of the ancient demon was annihilating them. The mage watched the Cursed with horror in his eyes before completely dissolving into the black smoke himself.
The Cursed sat before the open page of the book. On it was written:
"Cursed place: The Land of the Dead. There, the dead reign.
The Cursed came there.
The cult of the ancient demon was destroyed.
The Messenger of the Sleeping Demons was destroyed."
The Cursed flipped the page.