Mara's body did not move.
Not yet.
Surrounded by fresh green roots that delivered divine light, the slumbering mass of the Goddess of Death pulsed like a heart beneath the soil.
But Khoryv did not wait, though his heart full with sorrow and guilt.
He leapt forward, ancient blade drawn, his movements a blur of earthborn power. With a cry older than the trees, he struck the rootbound form of Mara, his blade cleaving through rot and bark.
The light around her body rippled, resisting—then cracking.
He pulled out the Staff out of her body, throwing it back.
Lybid followed his lead, catching the staff, vines twining around her arms as she shouted another incantation. Kyi, Yurko, and Maksym joined the assault, each wielding power born of water and light, steel, and archery. Blades flashed. Bolts of evil spirits fired. Waves surged.
Mara's form began to glow with crimson cracks, her power slowly bleeding into the air.
Then the forest screamed.
From every direction, monsters—twisted creatures, corrupted spirits, malformed beasts—erupted from hidden burrows and broken trees. They surged outward in chaos.
Some, following instinct, fled toward the edge of the forest. The moment they crossed the boundary, the Holy Barrier consumed them—burning them to holy ash.
Others, drawn to the source of divine fire, stampeded toward the mouth of the river and near cave where Methodius knelt in prayer.
Shchek stood before him, axe raised.
He turned his head slightly, grinning. "It's been great knowing you."
The wave approached—hundreds of howling, shadowy figures, black as night and shaped by sin.
Methodius whispered one last prayer and stood tall.
He raised the cross, drenched in water, that no longer had the blood core, a drop of divine.
And the river, now aflame with the blood of Christ, surged upward, swirling with divine heat.
A storm of light descended.
The black tide hit the wall of sanctified flame—and vanished in a storm of screams and dust.
Not one creature passed.
Back near Mara's heart, the assault continued—until a sudden blast of power threw them all away into the walls.
The cave exploded outward.
Roots shattered. Stones cracked. And from the smoke emerged a figure.
She floated just above the ground.
A woman of shadows and ruin.
Her skin was pale and perfect, but fissures glowed red beneath its surface—like a porcelain doll broken from within. Her eyes were endless voids, hair like falling night, and her voice…
When she opened her mouth, the air died.
Mara had awoken.