The floor beneath his feet suddenly gave way. He jumped forward, activating his vampiric strength, made a truly gigantic leap, and landed on the very edge of the floor at the other end of the corridor. He kicked the door open. Dodged a huge axe flying toward him. The axe passed over his head and tore a chunk out of the wooden wall. This terrible weapon was gripped in the hands of a tall, massive figure wearing a cultist's robe. It was so tall that it stood in the corridor bent almost double. Its head and shoulders hung beneath the old ceiling, from which an unknown rot dripped down in dark drops at a steady pace.
The row of windows on the left had been shattered. Some of the window frames had been torn out. More cultists burst in through the windows with white eyes and long exposed fangs. Green liquid was pouring from their mouths. Some of them were still holding pieces of bloodstained meat, finishing them as they ran.
Ahead, at the end of the corridor, stood another long bent figure with a huge axe.
The way to escape in that direction was cut off. The creatures let out triumphant screams, anticipating that their prey was within reach.
The Cursed raised his hands as he ran and jumped. With his armored hands, he smashed through the wooden ceiling, grabbed the edges of the opening, and climbed up. He found himself in a dark attic. Numerous objects covered with dust lay all around. Crates, old shoes, folded blankets covered with stains, lamps. A crackling sound came from the corners of the attic. Its walls burst open, and more cultists crawled out from them. They were making their way toward the Cursed.
He sprang forward and ran on.
The creatures were crawling in from all sides. The attic window was drawing nearer. Beyond it, the building of the next house could be seen.
Without stopping, the Cursed smashed through the window and flew out into the night over the city. For a few moments, he hung in the cold, damp heights. He was suspended above a city street filled with cultists. Numerous creatures opened their fanged maws and looked up at him with white eyes. They let out a savage howl.
He landed on the roof of the next building. An old loose stone burst out from beneath his foot.
He rolled and ran on.
The cultists were swiftly climbing onto the roofs of the neighboring houses. Moonlight fell upon their long hair, eyes, and fangs. The night of a bloody feast and sorcery. The whole mad city had risen and become filled with hatred toward him.
Ahead, he saw the central building rising above the other houses. He used it as a landmark. Whatever was happening in this city, the answer to this horror lay there.
Through the accursed night, the Cursed ran across the rooftops and leaped from one building to another. Cultists with white eyes and long fangs hurled themselves at him. These were some kind of advanced breed of cultists. Stronger and faster than those he had encountered in the city of the Black Demon. But at the same time, more savage, driven by instinct, having lost their human traits.
The Cursed was cutting them down with sword and dagger. Cleaving heads and bodies apart. Sending fountains of enemy blood exploding into the air. And running on.
He jumped onto the roof of yet another house. Then suddenly everything disappeared. Only darkness remained, along with strange magical lights that burned and drifted slowly ahead. The city's main landmark, the central building, had vanished.