The hill rises out of the silence that resided over the west side; it perched on an isolated part, over one of the valleys of the Vinehall forest. The trees surrounded it like great armies defending a fortress, the great expanse of green enhancing the hill's eeriness.

There have been tales of the sorcerer's cave being built on dead people, and the bits of skulls scattered around the floor easily justified the so not myth.

The sorcerer's repugnant appearance came in view as Harold sceptically approached the cave. Her back faced the entrance of the cave, her lusterless hair swinging down her shoulders.

Harold hesitated for a moment, uncertain of the path he had chosen for help.

"I know why you are here," Harold gulped, amused at the sorcerer's input. "And you know the implication of enacting the ancient curse."

"Then you also know my reasons are the same." He hissed knowing the sorcerer was starting with mind games.

"And you would__"

"I asked you to do this now!" he exclaimed, the fear and agony rushing back in his veins.

"There is no time for your mind games. William has killed thousands of my men and they are heading towards the main city. They will be here in no time and you know what will happen when they get here right!" he shouted and sighed in despair; the faint light penetrating through the dark cave shone on his face, revealing the dark wounds and blood all over his skin.

"You don't suppose I do that, your highness?" A sigh escaped her lips, lines of muscles overspreading her forehead. "Every magic-"

"-has a price; I know!" Harold cut in harshly. "I'm willing to pay whatever price."

"Ok... I hope you mean that." She shrugged walking towards a stone slab. She picked up an old book, which Harold could easily tell was a Grimoire, and dug into its cream coloured pages, the flipping echoing through the empty cave.

She drew a circle with salt and marked the four cardinal directions with candles. Each candle had a peculiar colour and markings on it representing the four spiritual guardians.

She asked Harold to stand in the middle then took a skull filled with blood and started circling the circle and chanting in a faint voice.

A swirling wind blew in the cave quenching the candle flame, signalling the presence of the spiritual guardians.

"It is done." She said showing her snaggle-tooth.

Back on the battlefield, William and his men had managed to defeat all the Saxon army and were headed to London.

They trailed through the swamp of dead bodies when sudden darkness crept on them; closing the smallest streak of sunlight in the air.

A band of thunder danced across the pitch dark sky. The silence that had presided over the battlefield for a while now distorted. Confusion wrote itself on their faces. This was unusual. It was a few hours ago the sky opened up for a new day, so why had darkness befallen them so suddenly?

"This can't be an eclipse," William murmured to himself. "Eclipses usually don't happen until a thousand years have passed or so."

Just then, before they could get answers to their questions, they heard a growling sound. The growling became louder, not because it was near but it seems whatever was growling has increased in number.

Through the pitch darkness, they saw the dead army on the battlefield moving. They got up from the dead, but different this time.

William narrowed his eyes at the battlefield that lay dead a few minutes ago, fear and disgust filling his gut at the sight of the undead feeding on the few dead bodies laying on the grounds.

It wasn't only the dead Saxons, but dead Norman soldiers also rose back to life! Everywhere on the battlefield was filled with the undead.

"What kind of whifling is this?" one of the soldiers cried out.

"Gloomers. That's what these are called." William explained as his eyes roamed through the half-dead monsters. "I read about them in a legend. These are one of the most dangerous of the dark curses someone could enact. Gloomers are every bit as capable in their cursed state as they were when they were human or alive. These were soldiers. Soldiers trained to withstand a burning fire. You can imagine how vicious they can be and now they feel no pain. Their appetite for violence is nearly unsurpassed and they prefer to eat while their food is still alive." William explained.

"Food?" a soldier whispered.

"Humans of course and in this case, us. Their one main weakness is that when they changed their eyes became very photosensitive and they cannot abide bright light, hence the darkness."

"So if we could get the daylight back up, they will all go back to being dead?"

"Verily but the legend also said to do that, the eye of the enactor must be taken out from its sockets." He added.

The pitch darkness that surrounded them shortened their vision to see the gloomers. William's hands clutched the sword as he gazed upon the undead. They stood in a circular form back-to-back giving each and every one of them a clear view of the impending danger.

The thunder rolled across the dark sky querulously.

Their swords flickered cruelly in the darkness. The undead marched on in a uniformed losey-goosey manner; staggering like drunk men.

William raised his sword aloft. They knew they had to get ready.

"Attack!" he ordered.

They crushed upon the undead like a clap of rumbling thunder, like the one that rolled the dark sky every now and then. They managed to kill most of them but realized, they got up a minute after they had killed them. They knew it would take more than just slaying the undead.

They just hoped that they would survive the day.