Though clad in armor and in the heavy air of the marshes, Vasilisa felt a dreadful chill come over her soul. She rushed over to the walls, and from atop the gatehouse she saw the Dreamer walking slowly, gracefully over the piled corpses like a dancer entering the stage, its face staring dispassionately at the slaughter all around. A crossbow bolt whistled from the battlements, followed by four others, yet when they struck the striding monster the hardened steel either shattered or scraped off the cracked stone skin, and the bolts spiraled like autumn leaves into the muck underfoot.

Shouting from all around, shouts of terror, of confusion - and then a gurgling scream from above. Vasilisa looked up to the man in the watchtower who had loosed the first bolt, and saw him collapse to his knees clutching his neck, which bulged thick with black rot that swelled up to his face and eyes. With every step the monster drew nearer, she saw more men around her grow pale with the terrible sickness, and before more could fall she pulled Tikhon close by the collar of his breastplate.

“Take what men you can, and make for the docks - hold the line there,” she spoke carefully to the spearman. “If you stay here, you will die.”

The warrior looked dumbfounded. “What? My lady-”

“No!” she shouted to the warrior, jerking him to his senses. “Listen! This spirit brings a terrible curse with it - it killed your boyar, and if you stay here, all of you will die, and this town will bleed.”

Before Tikhon could stammer back a reply, she released her grip on his breastplate. “Go, defend the docks, your liege lady commands it! Move!”

The Dreamer was growing nearer, and drew within a hundred paces of the walls by the time Tikhon sounded the retreat - blasting thrice from a warhorn tied to his belt. The militia and the druzhina hastily made their descent from the hard-fought walls, confusion and sickness upon every face as Tikhon rallied them to his side.

“The docks! We head for the docks!” the spearman cried to the warriors. “The fight is not yet done! Gather your breath, but do it quickly! With me, with me, all!”

Only a handful of stubborn men remained, too stubborn or too deaf to Tikhon’s calls - but there was no time for her to drag them away from the walls. As Vasilisa descended the stairs from the walls, she felt a terrible cold wash over her - and casting a glance above, she saw the crossbowmen collapse to their knees, choking and wheezing as invisible hands wrapped around their throats and filled their veins with bulging rot.

The men died where they stood, and then there were none to hold the gates which opened on their own, swinging with a terrible grinding noise as the iron bands bent and twisted inwards on themselves. When the gates parted, dozens of stacked corpses spilled into the town - and their blood snaked along the cobblestones in a single stream that swelled with every corpse it passed. The townsfolk of Balai, the marsh-folk of Rovetshi and their sworn protectors, in death all blood was the same - and the growing shadows of the moon-lit buildings around her whispered for blood, ever more blood. Blood to wash the entire earth of sin. Blood to rouse the heavens from their slumber. Blood, spirit, and love.

The Apostle strode through the gates slowly, its empty eyes trailing after the fleeing troops, and then they fell upon the lone girl who stood in its path, lit by a defiant stab of moonlight as the darkness encroached from all around.

“You are strong…but the strength is not yours…” The song was gone from the Dreamer’s voice, replaced with a terrible contempt that sounded of rumbling iron and grinding stone, of howling wind and crushing rock.

The terrible monster drew one black-clawed finger across its face, shifting an errant, oily black lock from the hollows of its eyes - and for the first time, Vasilisa felt her strength beginning to leave her. The wound in her side burned, and she clenched the Kladenets so hard in her hands she felt as though her knuckles would pop. Her knees threatened to buckle out beneath her, and a terrible weight blanketed itself over her form, forcing her to kneel.

But the crystals in her heart murmured their strength. She trembled beneath the monster’s gaze, but did not let it break her - did not let herself be afraid.

“Your blade…claimed by another,” the monster whispered as it took another step towards her, letting its arms fall to its sides. “Kin…or a thief? It does not matter - flesh, all. Flesh for the Majesties, flesh for the Dreamers.”

The monster’s bracers shimmered like fine glass, shards of crystal woven into ancient, flaking leather. With its third step, the crystals began to take a new life of their own, and slid free from the monster’s forearms. Each shard became a fragment of a terrible blade, which sprouted before her eyes from the Dreamer’s black-clawed hands.

Beautiful…

The blade shimmered with the majesty of the stars as it whistled through the air, cutting a rainbow flash across her vision.

At the last moment, her mind broke from the beauty of the sailing death cutting for her head, and she met the Dreamer’s charge with a two-handed slash. The Kladenets and the glass blade met with a terrible, wavering scream - and the strength behind the glass blade crashing into hers sent Vasilisa staggering, lightning bolt of pains shooting down both her arms.

As soon as their blades split from the clash, the Dreamer’s sword came singing through the air again, and when she checked the second blow it felt as though the Kladenets would shatter apart in her hands. In the sudden cold, her breath came out in silver clouds as she threw her own wild slash at the Dreamer, who pushed it aside with contemptuous ease. Together, they fell into a mortal dance beneath the shrinking moonlight, and the Apostle's blade formed a rainbow whirlwind as its wielder pirouetted, striking high and low, sweeping side to side. Every checked blow from the glass blade sent an unearthly wail through the town, and Vasilisa felt her strength sapping away from the freezing cold that rolled off in waves from the Dreamer's form.

She threw a counter-cut at the Dreamer’s side, but swiped only at the chill air as the Dreamer spun away and thrust forward an open palm.

A force like a crashing ocean wave smashed her head-on, and Vasilisa’s boots scrambled to find purchase on the blood-slicked cobblestones as the Dreamer forced her back and back, nearly tripping her over the scattered bodies and bones that littered the streets. She dug her heels into the ground as the Dreamer rushed forward again, and when it drew nearer she closed her eyes, struggling to focus her mind into a fist, and then an open hand.

The shimmering blade whistled once more…and then the invisible claw stopped its song short in the air, catching the sword mid-way through its swing. The Dreamer grunted as it struggled to wrench the sword free from her grasp, and Vasilisa’s head pounded relentlessly with every tug as she struggled to keep her mind’s eye focused on the sword and brought the Kladenets to bear.

The Dreamer’s sword ripped free, and its wielder towered over Vasilisa with its blade held high above its head to split her in half…but her Kladenets moved faster, and its dark hunger awakened at last as Vasilisa buried the cleaver into the Apostle’s side.

A terrible roar shook the town of Rovetshi as the Apostle screamed in dreadful, mortal agony. Blood black as ink gushed freely from the wound carved by the many lined teeth of the Kladenets, whose hunger felt like Vasilisa’s own as it bit deeper and deeper.

The Apostle’s blade clattered to the ground free from its master’s grip, and the monster spun away, trailing long black ribbons through the air as it pulled itself free from the Kladenets and away from Vasilisa. Dark, viscous matter that must have been what passed for the Apostle's intestines seeped freely through the open wound in the monster's side. Vasilisa saw the stony skin twitching, struggling to close the gap in the monstrous flesh, but whatever magic it had was unable to seal the tide of corrupted life essence.

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This is the power of a weapon touched by the divine, whispered the wisdom of another in her mind. She adjusted her grip on the long handle of the Kladenets, feeling a pair of gentle hands softly guiding her own. The power to cleave not just the flesh, but the soul - to touch even the living stars. To disrupt their forms.

The Apostle swept its feet around into a wide, low stance, tracing golden lines across the ground and through the air. The traces formed circles, glyphs, no - constellations. The traced lines faded until there only remained golden pinpricks of light, hovering about the Apostle as a shroud. Then the constellation flashed with new power, and in its wake there appeared the outline of a golden serpent, coiled about the Apostle's chest and shoulders.

"Fangs of the serpent," chanted the Apostle as the glowing light of the serpent began to harden, transforming the dancing lights into golden scales and keen, slitted eyes. "Consume the bastard Vessel."

Alive with light and spirit of its own, the serpent shot out from the Apostle's outstretched arm, hurtling for her throat with fangs of starlight. As it flew through the air, the serpent's form swelled, growing larger and brighter until its maw was wide enough to swallow her whole - a dark cavern leading into some astral oblivion.

The urge to flee seized her, but then the air grew thick as water, and time slowed to a crawl. The serpent seemed to freeze mid-flight, its scales gleaming silver in the waning light of the moon. In this strange stillness, she felt a sudden presence at her back.

You feel the trap closing in, don't you? The sorcerer's voice was calm, almost contemplative. She felt Chirlan's presence so strongly, but he danced just beyond the corners of her vision, and to look back would be to die. An animal would risk it all to escape the jaws of death, to bolt from the coming trap with everything it has. Asuja knows this - they are counting on it.

Vasilisa’s thoughts raced. She could see the Apostle before her, just past the serpent, waiting to carve her apart with its claws wherever she dodged. It was counting on the animal within.

Are my kin correct? Chirlan’s tone hardened, his words rising in challenge. Are you an animal, or something more?

The Kladenets hummed in her grip, its hunger resonating with her own as she traced the serpent’s glowing trajectory.

My daughter will fight.

Then she closed her eyes, and let the serpent’s jaws envelop her whole.

Inside, a flood of color and flashing lights assaulted her senses. Distant stars wheeled overhead, and she saw bright smears and clouds across the infinite darkness of the serpent’s maw. For a moment she was dazzled, overwhelmed by the void that enveloped her. It was as if she had been plunged back into the astral void, the space between worlds where time had no meaning.

The jaws were closing around her - she felt the weight of the serpent’s immense presence pressing in on all sides. As the final stab of light between the serpent’s closing jaws began to fade, Vasilisa carved the Kladenets deep through the hinging maw, and ripped the blade across the void.

Her arms felt as though they would tear out of her sockets. The stone teeth hewed through the void of the serpent’s insides, and sliced the divine beast in twain from head to tail. The Kladenets traced a bright golden line through the pressing darkness like a falling star, and then, with a stab of moonlight, the serpent’s form began to unravel.

The divine beast came apart around her. Its shimmering halves trailed golden specks as they sailed through the air and crushed the walls of a wooden home at her back, sending up a cloud of splinters and dust as the shack came crashing down. But even shrouded by the dust, the form of the Apostle was unmistakable.

Before the Dreamer Asuja realized what had occurred, Vasilisa threw herself forward, riding her burst of freedom from the divine beast.

The Apostle’s scream joined her own as she brought down the Kladenets in a killing swipe. The divine cleaver’s hunger felt insatiable as it ripped through more and more cracked skin and thick, knotted muscle. She hewed down and down through the monstrous body, carving Asuja from shoulder to hip until her blade stuck fast, and the abomination’s cry turned into a weak gurgle.

But before the split halves could begin to sag apart, a hand shot for her neck. No, how? Why won't you die? In an instant Vasilisa’s world narrowed into darkness, and the Apostle’s rotten breath washed over her face as its clawed fingers squeezed about her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes - the Apostle pulled her face closer to its own even as the other half of its body began to fall away.

“This strength is not yours to bear,” she heard the grinding stone voice in her ears. “These souls are not yours to claim. Slave of a slave of a slave…cry for me, despair for me, die for me…”

Die for me…die…die…

Her world was going dark - and the last echoes of fight faded fast from her spirit. She felt as though her body were growing distant, her fingers a thousand miles away as their grasp on the Kladenets began to weaken and falter. The Apostle forced her head upwards, pointing her eyes to the stars above. In the encroaching darkness, the celestial lights seemed like they shone brighter than ever, watching, waiting, calling to her…calling her name…

Vasilisa…

Vasilisa…

“Vasilisa!”

Her mind was drifting ever further, but a woman’s cry, high and terrified, called her back from the stars. Through her blackening vision she saw a pale face peering at her from behind a shattered wall, and then the boyar’s wife Nesha leapt out from where she hid, clutching a fallen druzhinnik’s lance.

No…she wanted to cry, but the claws digging into her throat turned her cry into a gurgled choke. No…no…

She felt her mind crash back into her body as a silver tongue exploded out from the Apostle’s mouth, and Asuja’s grip on her neck faltered. The Apostle dropped her to the ground as it flailed and gurgled from the foot of ash and steel stabbed through its head. Nesha fell to her knees from the effort, coughing and wheezing as the roiling corruption fell over her like a noose.

The monster’s attention drifted for only a moment, but it was only a moment that Vasilisa needed.

Vasilisa tore the Kladenets free from Asuja’s torso. Stained from tip-to-hilt in glistening blood, the moonlight made her blade appear as though it were cast from silver - a long, silver crescent to match the moon’s own.

The toothed blade shattered through the thick, heat-blasted skin of the monster’s face, crushed through the skull, and then it whistled free, scattering the top of the Apostle’s head across the cobblestones. The terrible beast shivered, and then its body surrendered to the earth at last, its two halves spilling forth an ocean of blood onto the streets.

The lower half of the monstrous face twisted into a strange grin as it twitched with a last gasp. Vasilisa felt its malice fading…and in its wake, she felt a feeling she could hardly recognize. Hope? Joy?

Relief…She sensed. The world above is pale and cold. The world below is dark and warm…so warm…so…warm…

The Apostle’s final thoughts drifted away into a soft echo in her mind, and then she saw the gray skin and knotted flesh harden and turn gray, then crumble into so much ash.

She let the Kladenets fall from her hands with a splash, and stepped over the ashen remains of the Apostle to Nesha, who lay sprawled on her side, choking on black corruption. Tears glistened silver on her face, but her veins were black - though the darkness was fading fast from her face, retreating back into nothingness with the Apostle’s shattering.

When Vasilisa knelt beside the boyar’s wife, her eyes opened.

“My…lady…,” Nesha managed, her voice soft. “Is…is…”

“It is over.” She took the woman’s hand, and held it tightly in her own scarred palm.

“Good.” Nesha whispered. “Then…then they are safe. All of them…no…not all of them…”

She knows, Vasilisa realized. Some part of her must have always known, when only Vasilisa emerged from Stribor’s band alive.

Vasilisa held Nesha close to her, and the silver tears fell as the boyar’s widow sobbed into Vasilisa’s chest. Tears…it had been so long since anyone in this mad world had shed tears for the fallen. As Vasilisa pressed herself tight to Nesha in an embrace, from all around them the folk of Rovetshi emerged from the shattered corpse of their town, druzhina, militia, and simple townsfolk all standing in awe as they beheld the ashen corpse of the Apostle. The world had fallen so terribly silent - the shrieks of the dead had faded with the life of their master, but the heavy fear and malice still lingered, soaked deep into the cobblestones and the suffocating air.

Then, there came a hoarse cheer. “VASILISA!”

A thousand voices swelled to join the cry - young and old, man and woman, highborn and low. “VASILISA! Vasilisa the Brave! Vasilisa the Fair! URAAAAA!”