A voice sounded nearby. Icy, crackling like a hard frost in the depths of winter.
"Cold... at the border fortress..." it drawled lifelessly.
The voice sounded either in his ears or in his head. Cold formed in the air. Snow was falling from the grim sky in large flakes. He felt that he had stepped across the boundary of a forbidden world. Tall warriors in armor with swords, their faces white and their eyes burning with fire, stood looking toward the north. Toward the place where the dark sky descended over the snowy plain and the land of ice hummocks and crystals. From the fortress behind the warriors, a commander emerged. His face was grim. Just like on the faces of everyone else present, the mark of the final battle was written upon it.
A terrible cold surrounded them. A tall, slender figure was approaching from the icy land. Its eyes were burning with blue flames. In its long hands, it gripped a gigantic black scythe.
"The Ice Horror is approaching," a moan swept through the ranks of the defenders.
The first line of warriors. The gigantic scythe was swinging back and delivering its first strike with the whistle of slicing air.
The Cursed dodged. He found himself in the temple once again, and behind him stood the Ice Horror with the black scythe in its hands. Its weapon cut through the air and found no target.
The Cursed lunged to attack it, but it dissolved into space.
The Cursed once again began moving through the temple, holding his sword at the ready, searching for his enemy. It was nowhere to be seen.
"Cold... at the lake in the forest..." the voice came again.
A forest covered with snow. A frozen lake. The trees stood like ghosts. In anticipation of the inevitable fate. The inevitable fate awaiting the girl and the warrior, who stood on the shore of the lake, embracing each other and looking into each other's eyes. Both had white faces. She was smiling at him.
On the other side of the lake, a tall figure with a black scythe appeared. It began approaching the people.
They turned around in horror.
"Run!" the warrior shouted, drawing his sword.
The girl ran.
The Ice Horror drew near. The black scythe delivered another strike.
This time, the Cursed jumped aside, but was slightly grazed. The temple's protection absorbed most of the damage. And only that saved the Cursed from a fatal wound.
He turned around, searching for the enemy with his eyes, but it was already gone again.
"Cold... in the king's palace..."
A large throne hall. On the throne, upon a platform with steps, sat a tall man. A crown rested upon his head, and his face was white. His gaze was filled with majesty.
He spoke the words:
"The demon must be destroyed."
Then he turned his head toward the Cursed and added:
"Stop listening to his voice, and you will defeat him."
The Cursed stepped aside beforehand and used the spell that altered space. The strike of the black scythe missed. The Cursed found himself alone in the sinister temple. He raised his hands to his ears and shut out the sound.
The creature appeared within his field of vision a few steps ahead. It was approaching with the black scythe raised. It was limping on one limb, which had twisted into an unnatural shape. Evidently, the spell had hit its target. But even so, it had not killed the monster. That seemed unbelievable and terrifying. This creature was definitely not from this time.
Only a few feet remained between them.
The Cursed lunged forward with vampiric speed. He was behind it. The sword was already in his hand. One precise strike, and the creature's head rolled across the floor of the temple. The black scythe clattered across the dark stones.
The Black Mist appeared at the entrance. The red eyes within it spotted their prey, and the creature flew toward the Cursed.
It surrounded him on all sides. The red eyes were staring at him without looking away, hypnotizing him, suppressing him.
"I will break your bones! You will hear them crack before your death!" a hoarse voice devoid of emotion rang out.
The Black Mist advanced on the warrior from all sides, enclosing him in a deadly prison.