On their way to the burning temple, they reached the Field of Curses, where towering dead trees stood like grim sentinels, and entrails were scattered about. Edmund rode his horse steadily, the man behind him surveying their surroundings with unease. The ground was littered with flesh and human corpses, while the trees bore grotesque human limbs slung upon their branches.
"What place is this?" asked the man, his voice tinged with horror.
"This is the Field of Curses. We must tread carefully, for the damned souls sleep beneath this ground of flesh," replied Edmund.
As they ran the horse over the cursed ground, the sleeping damned beneath stirred, their eyes opening. One by one, they emerged, each bearing marks of different punishments like those in the enormous pit. These wretched figures clawed their way out of the earth, their grotesque forms shrouded in horror.
"These are the damned punished as I saw in the pit!" the man exclaimed.
They drew their swords, preparing for a fight while still mounted. The first of the damned approached, its body twisted and contorted, its mouth sewn shut with thick, black thread. Its eyes, hollow and burning with eternal torment, fixed on them with a mix of hatred and despair. As it moved closer, the man could see the ragged flesh hanging from its bones, the wounds still fresh and bleeding.
Another emerged, its skin flayed from its body, leaving raw, red muscle exposed. The smell of burnt flesh and decay filled the air as it let out a silent scream, its jaw wired shut with iron spikes. Its hands were bound with chains that dragged behind it, the weight of its sins anchoring it to the ground.
A third damned soul arose, its body swollen and grotesque, covered in boils that oozed pus and blood. Its limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, as if broken and reset repeatedly in a macabre dance of pain. It lumbered forward, each step causing its boils to burst, sending a spray of vile fluid into the air.
As more of the damned souls emerged, each more horrifying than the last, Edmund and the man readied themselves for the battle. The field was soon filled with the ghastly figures of the punished, their groans and screams filling the air with a symphony of agony.
"Stay close and keep moving!" Edmund shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.
The first of the damned lunged at them, its sewn mouth opening slightly as it tried to scream. Edmund's sword flashed, cutting through the air and slicing cleanly through the creature's neck. The headless body crumpled to the ground, black blood oozing from the wound.
The flayed one came next, its raw muscles glistening in the dim light. The man swung his sword, aiming for its heart. The blade struck true, piercing the exposed flesh and sending the creature to its knees. It clawed at the wound, trying to pull the sword free, but the man twisted the blade, ending its suffering.
The grotesque, swollen figure lumbered towards them, its boils bursting as it moved. Edmund charged, his sword raised high. He brought the blade down with all his might, cleaving the creature in two. The sickening sound of flesh tearing filled the air, and the creature's remains fell to the ground in a heap.
As they fought their way through the Field of Curses, the damned souls kept coming, their numbers seemingly endless. Each one bore a unique punishment, a testament to the horrors of the pit. Some had their limbs severed, replaced with crude, iron prosthetics. Others were covered in burning tar, their skin blistering and peeling away. A few had their eyes gouged out, leaving empty sockets that wept black tears.
The ground beneath them became slick with blood and gore as they cut down the damned one by one. The man could feel the light within him urging him on, giving him strength as he fought. Edmund's skill with the sword was unmatched, his movements precise and deadly.
They pressed forward, the horse's hooves pounding against the ground. The damned souls tried to surround them, but Edmund and the man fought with a ferocity born of desperation. They knew they had to reach the river of death, a place where they could rest and gather their strength for the journey ahead.
As they neared the edge of the Field of Curses, a particularly monstrous figure blocked their path. It was a giant, its body covered in jagged scars and festering wounds. Its eyes glowed with a malevolent light as it swung a massive, spiked club towards them.
Edmund parried the blow, his sword ringing against the club. The man leaped from the horse, rolling to avoid a second swing. He came up behind the giant, his sword poised to strike. With a swift, powerful thrust, he drove the blade into the giant's Achilles tendon, causing it to roar in pain and collapse to one knee.
Edmund seized the opportunity, driving his sword into the giant's heart. The creature let out a final, agonized scream before falling to the ground, its life extinguished.
Breathing heavily, the man remounted the horse, and they continued their journey. The edge of the Field of Curses was in sight, and beyond it lay the river of death. The damned souls still clawed at them, but their numbers were dwindling.
Finally, they broke through the last of the damned, their swords slick with blood. The river of death lay before them, its dark, sluggish waters flowing silently. They dismounted, leading the horse to the water's edge.
"We shall rest here," Edmund said, his voice weary but resolute.
The man nodded, grateful for the respite. They built a small fire, the flames casting flickering shadows on the water. The man sat down, feeling the pain in his body slowly subsiding.
As they rested by the river of death, the light within the man spoke once more. "Thy journey is far from over, but thou hast shown great courage. The burning temple awaits, and with it, the stairway to heaven."
The man nodded, determined to continue despite the hardships. For now, they would rest, gathering their strength for the next leg of their perilous journey.