The sun barely rose. Its rays pierced only slightly through the thick canopy, giving the forest a sickly, greenish glow. The group pressed on through roots slick with mist and silence that felt too alive.
Lybid led them toward what the forest had shown her in dreams: a circle of willows that wept not with rain, but with something darker. The moment they stepped into the ring, the air changed.
Cold. Hollow. Familiar.
The river curved nearby, silent and black. There, half-submerged in water and moss, they found them.
Between the willow trees that dipped their arms into the water, something shimmered—three Mavkas rising slowly from the depths.
They hissed, water spiraling around them. Their long fingers curled like claws, and their eyes were voids. The group braced for a second attack.
Water spiraled into a cyclone around the three figures as they crashed into the group, a chaos of claws and screams and flashing white limbs.
Lybid stretched her arms, different runes faintly glowing around them, trees and roots protecting the group from river tides.
One Mavka ran in Methodius direction, her hair like black vines and sharp needles.
The other two Mavkas shrieked, their mouths stretching open, revealing rows of needle-like teeth. They lunged toward Kyi and Yurko.
Lybid tried to block their way with tree branches and grab them with roots, but she only got one.
Maksym and Martyn surged forward with knives, Shchek couldn't stay aside and joined forces with them, holding a rather big axe.
Martyn blocked her sharp claws.
"NO!" – Maksym screamed.
The river roared.
Since Maksym wasn't so fast he could only watch Martyn's neck to be cut by a sharp water arrow coming from the left. Blood spattered.
Light descended from above.
"Holy spirit!" Kyi yelled.
With the help of holy water and blessing of Kyi Maksym cut off her hand, Shchek aiming his axe at her neck. But instead water flowed, creating a thick wave from the river washing him away from Maskym.
At the same time, with her skin tearing, Mavka escaped Lybid's tight embrace, cutting some of the roots.
Lybid's hands, as if cut by the blades, received bloody marks.
The second Mavka shortened the distance, instead of going for Lybid, slashed at Yurko, whose bow had slipped from his hand. He was dazed, crouched, helpless.
After regaining his senses wet Shchek ran to Yurko.
He raised his axe to help—
But the second Mavka, now bloodied and shrieking, spun and threw him back with an unnatural force. He slammed into a tree.
Kyi, who was standing near Yurko, prayed solemnly:
"In the name of Christ, I rebuke!"
Now the one who were sent flying into a tree was Mavka, momentum enough to break through its trunk.
"Wake up, Yurko!" – he yelled while leafing through the God's text he received from Methodius.
On the other side Methodius clashed together with the first Mavka in a deadly dance, avoiding and running from her fierce claws or cutting waters.
He pressed his cross to his forehead, finishing his prayer to God:
"Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur," in that instant Mavka's body pressed to the floor, forcing her into the praying position, "tuque, Princeps militiae Caelestis, satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute in infernum detrude.
Another source of light, this time even brighter, filled the area.
The first Mavka let out a scream—a guttural, echoing cry that shattered the air like glass.
"Amen."
Lybid quickly recovered, noticing two more figures emerging from the river's surface.
Two more Mavkas.