But now the Cursed stood before them, cold, grim, with eyes full of inhuman pain and danger. Only the Cursed were said to be capable of destroying the most terrible monsters. So the legends said. So the folklore told. And that changed everything. With a heavy heart, they agreed.
Afterward, the Cursed visited the local Warlock, who lived in an abandoned house on the edge of the village. The Warlock was shocked twice: first, learning that the visitor was the Cursed, and second, hearing his mad plan to destroy the witches. He led the Cursed to the attic, where an ancient book was kept. The book explained that there was a direct way to destroy the circle of evil witches, and to accomplish it, the brave soul taking on this feat had to prepare for the following events: first, the first witch would be killed—her first black, evil blood would be spilled. Then, following her death, the so-called Black Triangle would appear: three even more powerful witches, ready to judge the killer and destroy him. To withstand them, a Protective Circle had to be created and stayed within. When the witches entered, they would lose part of their power, giving a better chance to defeat them. If the hero succeeded in this terrifying trial and killed the judge-witches, he would then face the most dreadful, final battle: the Black Sabbath, when all the evil witches, led by the Supreme Witch, would come for his life and summon him to answer for his deeds.
"To create the Protective Circle, the Big House will be perfect," the Warlock said. "A building no one lives in, where the village council used to meet. I will personally create the Circle and provide all the necessary ingredients."
"Are you sure this is a good choice?" the Cursed asked. "After the slaughter, there will probably be nothing left of the building."
"Let it be," the Warlock waved impatiently. "At least the village head won't be able to kick me out of a meeting again."
At night, the Big House stood out as a massive shadow over the other homes, just as it did during the day. The windows of the building and the others were dark and lifeless. The unwritten rule to avoid witches was strictly followed.
The Cursed entered the Big House, ascended to the council hall, and lit a candle. A large black circle was drawn on the floor.
"Remember, evil witches sense the Protective Circle and will never enter it willingly," the Warlock's words echoed in his mind from the day before. "You must throw her off emotional balance; only in that state will the witch not notice herself falling into the trap."
He placed the candle on the windowsill, climbed the stairs to the roof, sat down, and waited.
Quick shadows flashed through the air.
They emerged from the darkness as if from nowhere. Three silent, slender female figures. Two with long black hair, the one in the middle with white. Two of the witches, standing to the left and right, had missing flesh on their faces and bodies. The central witch's white shoulder bones jutted out, her spine visible, while the rest was hidden beneath black, half-rotted dresses.
"Mortal! I am the judge-witch," the one in the center said in a hoarse, semi-ethereal voice. "You killed our sister, and for that, you are sentenced to destruction by magical fire. The sentence is carried out immediately."
The three raised their hands, and magical lights ignited along the edges of their palms and long black nails. Sitting there, he turned his face toward them; magical inscriptions flared across his cheekbones.
The witches recoiled in horror.
"You—the Cursed?!" the central witch gasped, as if some monstrous, terrifying force were choking her heavily. She jerked her head toward the other witches. "How much time do we have?"
"About an hour until midnight," one answered. "Then they will come for him."
The central witch looked at the figure sitting on the roof, then smiled with her long, sharp teeth.
"Excellent! Then we still have time to kill him."
The three lunged at the Cursed simultaneously. But he leapt from the roof, slipped through a window, and entered the large council hall. In an instant, he stood within the black circle.
The witches appeared immediately and stood across from him, angry, furious, breathing heavily. Then they realized they were inside the Protective Circle, which greatly weakened their power.
"Ah, you wretch!" the judge-witch screamed, diving at the Cursed.
She grabbed him by the throat and dragged him almost across the entire hall. Then she stopped—and received a powerful punch that sent her flying back across the room. Rising, she surged into the air, alternating vicious kicks, dragging her opponent nearly across the chamber again. Another crushing punch sent her crashing to the floor on the opposite side. This time, she did not hurry to rise.
Meanwhile, the other two witches seized him, lifting him by the throat and carrying him to the very edge of the black circle, smashing into an invisible wall with brutal force. The witches roared, trying to strangle him. Their faces, twisted by inhuman malice, melted under the circle's magical boundary, but they did not relent, did not release him. Their hatred outweighed the fear of death—or perhaps they were temporarily blinded by the all-consuming fury within them.
The third witch stood before him. Her beaten face, black blood dripping, held a triumphal, joyless snarl. She raised her hand, long black nails aimed to strike.
Suddenly, he lunged forward. His teeth shot out, growing into massive fangs capable of tearing through any disobedient flesh. His maw clamped onto the judge-witch's throat, and black blood gushed from her arteries in furious, relentless pulses. In moments, the judge-witch collapsed dead. The Cursed, lips blackened with blood, grabbed the two remaining witches, each with one hand, and with a crack, snapped their necks. They fell, still conscious enough to watch, but unable to move.
He made his way to the window, waiting for the bloody Black Sabbath, which, according to the ancient book, was bound to follow.