The Magister was hiding not in the town hall or other central buildings, as one might have expected. He had settled in a haunted house.
An ancient gothic building on the edge of the city. The Cursed and the six figures behind him were walking along the road toward the house, passing ghosts suspended in the air on both sides. Inside the large hall were other creatures. Their forms constantly circled about six and a half feet above the floor and emitted sparks. They guarded the Magister. But now they had been ordered not to touch anyone.
The Magister sat at a table in a room on the second floor. Various objects—artifacts with which he controlled the magic and transformations of the Cult—lay frozen on the table. A pale face and a black robe. On the robe was an image of a fanged mouth devouring the moon. His dark hair was disheveled and stuck out in all directions. White eyes without pupils and a snarling mouth with long fangs. The Magister looked like a madman consumed by his own madness, who had unleashed a mass nightmare upon the earth.
"The Cult summoned you here," the Magister said. "The strongest warriors of the Dark Kingdom. So that the best would become the strongest adept of the Cult. Cursed, they chose you as their commander, recognizing you as the best. You will become an adept of the Cult. Your abilities will increase without limit. Say just one word.
"Choose, Cursed," he rasped ominously. "But be careful with your choice. Do not make a fatal mistake that you and your new friends will bitterly regret."
The Cursed grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air. He stared straight at him. Eye to eye. Ordinary objects were breaking apart near him. The Cursed felt even his armor beginning to crumble at the edges. An ordinary person would not have been able to withstand being near the Magister for even a second. The madman's terrible mouth stretched into a grotesque imitation of a smile. He was not afraid. He did not beg for mercy.
"You made the wrong choice, Cursed. When you kill me, you and I will surely meet again. This is not the end. My Lord is too powerful."
A sword formed in the Cursed's hand. He drew it back for the final, deadly blow.
But at that moment, a flash appeared behind the Magister, followed by the whistle of wind. Something broad and deadly flashed along the Magister's neck, and his head swiftly separated from his body. The Cursed cast aside the useless body like a broken doll and looked at the one standing at the far end of the room.
A pale warrior with shoulder-length white hair, clad in armor. A sword with a long, broad blade vanished without a trace from his hand. He was one of those who accompanied the Ice Queen on her deadly raids. Behind him shimmered a transition portal through which he had entered.
"The Ice Queen invites you to the hunt," he said, and the rumble of his voice rang out throughout the room. "You are declared prey. The hunt has begun."
Then he turned and disappeared into the portal. The portal began to grow in size, filling the entire room, and the Cursed and his companions found themselves in a new place.
They were in a large, unfamiliar castle. An ominous silence reigned in its rooms, while a winter forest stretched beyond the windows.