The third floor of the castle. The very top.
Ahead was a large hall with open double doors. Inside, a light-blue semi-transparent smoke floated throughout the room and enveloped a crystal figure on a marble pedestal. The crystal figure was the shape of a creature with the head of a fanged monster. Looking at this figurine made one feel sick, and evil thoughts crept into the mind.
One of the runners burst into the large hall with a hysterical cry of triumph, took a few steps, and suddenly was torn apart. His remains scattered across the marble floor, and the light-blue smoke calmly drifted above them.
The Cursed stopped in the doorway. From somewhere inside the hall came the ominous laughter of the madman who was lying in wait for him.
The Cursed used the power of the many-armed monster. Huge bands of white, wrinkled flesh stretched out across the great hall. Bloody wounds began to open upon them. But more and more gigantic arms reached toward the artifact at the center, until one of the hands seized it and crushed it. The crystal figure cracked with a ringing sound and shattered into small fragments. A magical wind swept through the Castle of the Psychopaths.
The Cursed was descending and saw nothing around him but corpses. He was alone in the castle now. Through the windows, a starry night was visible. By his sense, midnight had come.
He turned and saw that the walls, ceiling, and floor of the castle behind him were made of white stone.
He walked through the corridors until he found himself in a great hall, where a blue crystal lay at the center on a pedestal of white stone.
The Cursed took it. Magic touched him. He felt that he could now move on safely.
Outside lay a forest covered in snow. Frost spread among the trees.
The Cursed heard the approaching thunder of hooves.
He hid beneath a large fir tree. Several riders approached and stopped nearby.
"I can feel him. He is somewhere close, but I cannot see him," said a cold female voice that, for reasons unknown, made the blood freeze in his veins. "Unless he managed to obtain the blue crystal from the White Castle. In that case, he is invisible and can hide from me forever."
The Cursed cautiously peeked out and saw the rider. Tall. Slender. Cold. Long blond hair. A transparent crown upon her head. A proud gaze. Beside her were creatures with white hair, clad in armor. The rider surveyed the surroundings with malice. Intense cold radiated from her.
"Ice Queen, if you sense him here, give the order and we will search everything within a 300-foot radius," said one white-haired creature mounted on a horse nearby.
"No. We ride on. Sooner or later, we will find him. And then we will destroy him."
The riders rode away.
The Cursed got out from under the tree and found himself in an unfamiliar house. It was dark inside. A staircase led upward. A dim light burned there.
In the twilight room, behind a table, sat a figure in a brown robe. The Cursed approached and stood behind him. Before the Warlock lay a book. In his right hand, he held a quill. The entries on the pages read:
"Places from which no one returned.
The Cannibal Village on the Abandoned Island.The Traveler went there.Cannibals killed.
The Gold Mines under the Black Mountain.The Traveler went there.Lizard-men killed.
The Castle of the Psychopaths.The Traveler went there.The family of the Psychopaths killed."
Below was written:
"The Ice Queen. The Curse.The Traveler went there.The Ice Queen did not find him."
The words "The Traveler went there" were written in a crooked, uneven hand.
The words "The Warlock is dead" were appearing at the bottom of the page.
A cold dagger blade slid across the Warlock's throat. He fell onto the table and remained motionless.
The Cursed took the book, flipped through a few pages, smirked darkly. Then he took the book with him and left.