The battlefield faded behind me, and I was walking through the forest again. Now that I'd calmed down-so to speak-, I wondered what that had really been. Andrei had implied he had created it, but how? He couldn't warp reality, or even create illusions. And I didn't think Alex could, either. He wasn't that kind or ghost, as far as I knew.

But then, what did I know, really? Jackshit, as far as recent events had show.

In order to finally start keeping track of time, I began snapping my fingers. Each finger-snap lasted a second, as far as my senses and instincts could tell.

It took about three and a half million seconds before the scenery changed. Thank God I don't get tired.

I was getting sick of this damn place. This forest, with its eldritch laws and flow of time. If I didn't get cured, I'd level the place, just to spite it.

No. Fucking damn it. What's wrong with me? I've already stepped into it with the iele. No need to keep digging my-

I fucking hate my mind sometimes.

My body continued to degrade. Wither, as Andrei had said. My arms and legs became thinner, and my face stuck to my skull, feeling paper-thin.

It was all my perception, I knew. I wasn't getting physically weaker, or slower, less durable. There was just...less of me.

The forest was replaced by an endless plain. The grass was tall and made of gold, beneath a purple sky with green clouds. On the horizon, I could see a golden palace, tall as a mountain, clouds not even reaching its middle floors.

I was in the country of zmei.

In many stories, the hero- Făt-Frumos, Prâslea or whoever-has to leave the mundane, human world behind, and walk into the realm of his enemies to confront them. The zmei are often not of the Earth, so the hero has no choice but to go to their country.

The gates of the palace opened, shaking the ground and air for as far as I could see, and a giant mace came flying at me.

Its round, spiked head was the size of my torso, its spikes the size of daggers and far sharper. It was coming at me so fast fire was dancing around it, and it was glowing white-hot from the friction with the air. The sound of its passing would only reach me long after the mace itself. But I didn't need to hear it to react.

I raised a hand and backhanded the mace away. It shot away from me like a Rod from God, and the grass turned to smoke from the force of the clash, for as far as I could see.

The mace flew, then hit the ground, carving a trench through the barren ground deep and wide enough for the Danube to pass through.

Lucian's laughter shook the plain, seeming to come from everywhere, even from beneath.

It made sense. This was his realm. His domain.

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The zmeu dropped from the sky like a meteor, hitting the ground far harder than his mace had. I had to brace and repeatedly stomp through the ground not to get sent flying away by the shockwave. I'm inhumanly strong, but I still only weigh as much a human. Superhumanly strong people often forget this and get ragdolled by the cars, trucks or trains they try to stop.

Lucian hovered above me, wings beating slowly. He was dressed as fine as any voivode, in black threaded with gold, and boots shaped for his clawed feet. If he were standing on the ground, I knew the top of my head would only reach the base of his chest. His arms were as thick as my torso.

'Mihai had the right idea!' he bellowed in a voice like the horn of a warship. 'But he never packed enough punch. But don't worry-it all ends now.'

I didn't like they way he'd phrased it. 'What the hell do you mean? Are you going to beat me up, or what? Mihai pulped my head, and I healed, but I'm still withering. What purpose would it serve?'

'He only pulped your head. I can, and will, do far more.' He chuckled throatily at my expression. 'Oh, yes. I know of the new crater. I'd bet everyone with a telescope does, and the rest of the world can't be far behind.'

He dropped to the ground-in a three-point landing, because of course he did-, then raised to his feet. He opened his right hand, and his mace reappeared in it. No cloud of smoke, no flash of light. Just a weapon, heeding its master's will.

'You've been a gloomy bastard ever since you dug your way out of the earth,' he said, mace casually slung over one shoulder. It was made of solid gold, enchanted to make it far heavier and tougher than any earthly material. I'd felt its weight when I'd backhanded it. It had felt like a locomotive.

'And that's the problem. I've yet to meet a strigoi who shares your problem, but none I know shares your winning personality, either. They're all at peace with themselves, even if they're all vile shits.'

This was basically what Andrei and Alex had said, almost word for word. Had they talked? Or had Lucian come to this conclusion himself? Did he know about-

No. No. I couldn't start thinking like that. It would only distract me, and besides, maybe they were right. If my body was tied to my mindset, paranoia wouldn't help it one jot.

So, I just walked to Lucian, crossing my arms and looking up at him. 'So, what shall we do, zmeu? Cut ourselves with swords, break ourselves with maces, or wrestle in a brawl?'

He sniggered at the (probably mangled) quote, drool and flame alike slipping through clenched fangs. 'You can fight as you want. If you think it will help.'

And we leapt at each other.