"You are too late, little angel! He is mine now!"
"Czernobog!"
"The one and only! Now watch helplessly as we take him as our own!"
"No!"
Gavril was crouched in the middle of the churchyard, clutching his head in his hands.
The hosts of Hell swirled around him, whispering, clutching, clinging, sensuously promising. She could barely see him through the horde.
Hurtling through the woods, she had transformed, frantic with the sheer strength of the demonic forces that had gathered at the chapel. Her six wings swept in hurried beats, brushing the trees beneath her, and the sword in her hand lit with brilliant golden fire.
For some reason Gavril had left the sanctified protection of the chapel proper, but that should not have been enough for Czernobog to act. Unless he had been sleepwalking, or…
"Oh no, little angel, he was not asleep. He admitted his weakness while awake and with a mind of reason. It was all we needed." The demon stood next to the crouching man, bat-wings spread in a mantle of blackest pitch, clawed hands cradling the air around Gavril. His eyes flamed virulent yellow at his imminent victory.
One of the taloned fingers pointed her way, and a stream of lesser demons poured towards her, leaping upwards and sinking their claws into her. There was no pain, but they did drag her down to earth, where she landed with a crashing thud. Desperately she lay about her with her sword, trying to regain her feet.
The miasma of the enemy was nearly overwhelming, gloating in their inevitable victory, sure of their prize.
Gavril's soul.
Terror ripped through her even as her sword slew the demons that recklessly flung themselves at her. They could not defeat her, but they could delay her, and that was all they wanted.
"Gavril!" she cried, when a new sound reached her.
Prayer. Fervent prayer. The prayer of a man who realized the danger he was in, and was giving all he had to God, trusting in God's ability to protect him above all things. It was this prayer that wrapped him in a layer of protection, that kept him realizing the beings heaving around him.
The demons would not break it. Only Gavril himself could lower it.
Gratitude burst from her lips in song as she surged upward, sword blazing brightly as she wielded it with renewed strength.
Soon she made it to Gavril and stood over him, with a sweeping gesture, she knocked Czernobog backwards, away from the priest. The demon fell heavily, but scrambled back to his feet with alacrity.
"Enough, Czernobog," she commanded. "Forfeit."
"No," the demon seethed. "The priest is ours!"
"He will never be yours," she declared, heart pounding with gratitude and love for God. "Listen for yourself."
The demon backpedaled furiously as the devotions tumbling from Gavril's lips reached him.
"This cannot be!"
"Oh, but it is. You cannot break him, demon! He of the true faith, and he belongs to my Father and no other!"
"You speak so proudly," the demon spat, circling her. "With your immortal form and your vaunted piety. I know your weakness, little angel. Lucifer himself granted it to me. It may kill me, but I will drag you to Hell with me as I go!"
"What is this you speak of?" Varya scorned. "You have no such weapon."
"Oh, but I do. And if we cannot have him, we will not leave him to your kind. I will destroy the two of you. It ends tonight!"
With the ringing rasp of metal, the demon drew a sword from seemingly nowhere, the fist he held it in already beginning to smoke. Varya stared at it, recognition igniting fear in her heart.
"How did you get that…"
"The angel-killing sword?" Czernobog said in mocking tones. "I told you, Lucifer himself has taken an interest in these doings. It is a relic of your Civil War. Do you not recognize it as the very sword belonging to the Morning Star himself?"
"This…is not possible…"
"Oh, it is very possible, little angel. How many of your kind did Lucifer obliterate with this weapon as he fought a losing battle? But sadly you have no time to reminisce, as I am coming for you both!"
He dove towards her with such a ferocity of blows that she barely had time to lift her sword to defend herself. The blade, seemingly with a mind of his own, snaked through her defenses and slashed her arm. Real, physical pain erupted from the wound as golden ichor burst from the wound. A shriek escaped her and she stumbled backwards, nearly falling in front of Gavril.
To her dismay, he looked up, and their eyes met.
"To—tovarichka?"
"Gavril! Get in the chapel! It is not safe for you out here!"
"Varya!"
"Go!" She screamed, and with a sweep of her wings drove her sword at Czernobog.
Contemptuously he flicked the point of her sword aside and, one clawed hand grabbing her shoulder, rammed the angel-killer through her.
The tableau went still.
Varya coughed, amazed at the agony that wracked her, amazed at the taste of the ichor that flooded from her mouth, amazed that Czernobog held her suspended above the ground, impaled on the sword of the Morning Star himself.
"Varya! No!"
"Ga—Gavril…run…"
Czernobog lowered the sword with disdain, using his foot to push her off into a heap of broken feathers and spilled ichor.
"And now for you, mortal man," Czernobog sneered, raising the sword once again. The flesh of his hand had bubbled and burned off, and the taint was now creeping up his arm. "I may not be able to do much more, but I can surely finish off a weakling like you."
"No…please…"
"Quiet, little angel," Czernobog snapped. "You get to watch as I kill him. Know you have failed, in everything. In your mission to protect him, in your love for him, in everything. You will die never to know the touch of your father again, and you will die never knowing the touch of this man at all. You will die as wretchedly as one of your kind should. Now be still and accept it."
Gavril tore his eyes from Varya and stared at the approaching demon. His eyes narrowed, and he clasped his hands before him.
"We make this great, divine, holy and awesome invocation and plea, O devil, for Thine expulsion, as well as this rebuke for your utter annihilation, O apostate! God Who is holy, Who hath no beginning, frightful, invisible in essence, infinite in power and incomprehensible in divinity, the King of glory and Lord Almighty, He shall rebuke thee…"
The foul spirit cocked his head as he strode forward. "What is this?"
" He Who composed all things well by his Word from nothingness into being; He Who walks upon the wings of the air. The Lord rebukes thee, devil! -- He Who calls forth the water of the sea and pours it upon the face of all the earth. Lord of Hosts is His name. Devil: the Lord rebukes thee!" Gavril's voice grew in strength as the litany continued.
Czernobog slowed to a crawl, then to a stop, straining forward against an unseen barrier. "This…cannot be. Little man, I was going to kill you quickly, but you try my patience!"
" He Who is ministered to and praised by numberless heavenly orders and adored and glorified in fear by multitudes of angelic and archangelic hosts. Satan: the Lord rebukes thee! He Who is honored by the encircling Powers, the awesome six-winged and many-eyed Cherubim and Seraphim that cover their faces with two wings because of His inscrutable and unseen divinity and with two wings cover their feet, lest they be burned by His unutterable glory and incomprehensible majesty, and with two wings do fly and fill the heavens with their shouts of 'Holy, holy, holy, Lord Sabaoth, heaven and earth are full of Thy glory!'" The priest's voice thundered, filling the churchyard with magnificent and undeniable power.
Snarling, Czernobog swung the sword forward, but it passed harmlessly through the air several feet in front of Gavril, who seemed to take no notice. His glare was fixed upon the demon before him, and the words poured from his lips in an unquenchable flood. Demonic feet clawed the icy earth, tearing great gashes as the demon futilely tried to advance. Still the words poured forth, and the air trembled for them. Showers of snow fell from the trees as the earth shuddered.
"He Who descended into Hades and opened its tombs and set free those held prisoner in it, calling them to Himself; before Whom the gatekeepers of Hades shuddered when they saw Him and, hiding themselves, vanished in the anguish of Hades. May the Lord rebuke thee, Devil! -- That is, Christ our God Who arose from the dead and granted His Resurrection to all men!"
Czernobog crashed to his knees as Gavril's final shout rang through the air like a death knell, the angel-killing sword falling from his broken and bare boned fingers.
"This…this is not possible…" the demon gurgled, staring at his hands as flame flared from his fingertips, racing up his arms to consume him. "You were broken! Your faith shaken! How is it that He responds to your plea?"
"I am weak, demon, and my Lord God knows this. It is because of that weakness He comes to our aid, for He will always respond to those who love Him…" Gavril glanced at Varya, who was crumpled to the ground, wings shivering, and the hard, righteous light in his eyes flickered for the barest of moments. "And to those who love others."
But Czernobog was beyond hearing Gavril's admonishment. The consecrated fire was devouring him, eating through his infernal flesh and blood and bone and leaving nothing behind, not even ashes.
"From fire you came, and to fire you return. Know that the Lord God has prepared his eternal chastising flames for you, and there you will dwell until the end of days."
Czernobog's body fell forward, the flames inevitably devouring him.
"Know this," the voice of the demon issued forth even as the fires destroyed him. "This will not stop me. The Son of Perdition will pluck me from your never ending damnation and return me, for such is his power."
"And He who is Most Holy will return you once more, fiend."
A shattering roar split the night, all the rage and wrath and fury of Hell denied contained within the awful sound, and then it died away to no more than the memory of a whisper on the breeze.
"Varya!"
Gavril raced to where she lay, slick with her golden blood, fractured feathers matted to the frozen ground, her torn wings trembling.
"Gavril…"
"What can I do? Please, tell me what I may do!" he begged her, on his knees. Despite his frantic urgency, as he reached out and took one of her ichor stained hands in his own, his touch was achingly gentle.
"You are safe," she whispered, tears of indefinable relief sliding down her cheeks. "That is all that matters."
"No, I will not hear that from you now," he cried. "You are not more important than I am, you are everything! Please, tell me what to do!" Reluctantly he released her hand and attempted to lay her on her back, so as to examine the wound, but her touch on his face stopped him.
"Stop…there is nothing you can do. I will heal or I will not. This body was not made to be wounded…I do not know if it can heal. It matters not. I was sent here to protect you, and if I return to whence I came, another will come. You will not ever be alone."
He grasped the shaking fingers so tentatively brushing his cheek and kissed them. "Varya, Varya, I am telling you I want no other…stay with me!"
"I do not think I will be able to."
His strong arms lifted her to him, and he gathered her tightly to his chest as he rose to his feet. "I will take you inside, and tend to your wound. I will restore you."
"Gavril…"
However, when he went to stand his strength failed him. Her current form, while appearing very similar to her human one, carried the full weight of her divine nature and could not be borne by any mortal man.
"Why can I not help you?" he howled into the night, clutching her tightly.
"It is no failure on your part, let me go…"
"I cannot lose you!" he shouted raggedly, as he threw his head up and bellowed into the night sky. "Please help your lowly servant once more. I know I am not worthy, but know that I will continue to serve you to the best of my abilities for the rest of my days. But heal her, and I will do my utmost to spread your word to all the land!"
There was a subtle shift in the wind, and the trees stirred around them. All seemed expectant, and waiting.
His head bowed and he buried his face in her hair, tears trickling from his tightly closed eyes. "Please," he murmured. "I will do anything. Please save my beloved Varya."
There was a sound like a terrible bell being rung, a great ringing clap that tore through them both. It reverberated with power, and it continued, not dying away, but growing stronger. And as it grew stronger, a blinding white light sprang forth from her broken and bleeding body, enveloping it. It grew as the thunderous noise of the bell grew, until even through his closed eyes, the light was piercingly bright.
All he could do was cling to her as the light and sound encompassed her. Beneath the deafening peal, he heard a rustling noise, and the feel of her in his arms began to change. To shocked to pray, to fearful to open his eyes, all that remained to him was a desperate hope.
Slowly the gong of the bell faded away, and so to did the light.
"Gavril…"
The pure sound of her voice touched his aching head, and hesitantly he opened his eyes.
To see her smiling up at him from within his embrace. Human, and whole. Her holy raiment was gone, replaced once more with the simple peasant dress that was so familiar to him. Her brilliant blond hair streamed out in a bright fan, but it was the only gold that spilled from her.
"Praise be to God," he whispered. "He has returned you to me."
"Oh, my love!" she cried, reaching her arms around him and clutching at him as she sobbed into his neck.
Without further word he climbed to his feet, still holding her close in a protective embrace. Striding across the churchyard, he reentered the chapel and went to his room. Carefully, he lay her on the bed.
"What…?" Her eyes were confused as he released her and sat next to her. The shutters of the window to his room were still open, and moonlight poured in, bathing her in silvery-blue radiance.
"Please…" he said, and his voice was rough and strange. "Call me by my name."
"I don't…"
"My name."
"Ilya…"
His hands seized her face as his mouth hungrily sought hers.
Dizzying heat exploded inside of her, and she responded to him with equal hunger. Their hands tore at their clothes, but were soft in their exploration of each other.
He lay his long body next to hers on the bed, and the ravenous desire drained away, replaced with a kinder longing. They never stopped moving, never a moment of rest as their hands roamed over each other, lips and tongues intertwining, then eagerly moving to seek out what delights could be discovered in one another.
He had never dreamed such a thing would ever be possible for him. To hold such beauty, to quench the desire that had raged within him as he lay in her bed, mind ranging with delusional fantasy. This body pressed to his, her heat mingling with his own, the touch of those elegant, slender fingers, the caress of her lips.
His hands moved of their own accord, but he no longer felt any need to fight himself. He wanted to devour her, and have her devour him. He wanted to take her within himself so deeply that they could never be separated, and this that they had found would go on forever. There was not enough, not enough of him, not enough of her, he moved too slowly. He wanted to know all of her, every inch of her smooth skin, every strand of her silken hair, and he wanted to know it all at once.
He had almost lost her, not to another village, not to another man, but forever. She had nearly been taken from the very earth. The thought was enough to kill him.
"Varya...forgive me my denial of you. I love you, and have ever loved you."
"Ilya," she sighed, he finding the secret places of this body she never had dreamed could exist. The pleasure was nothing to the fullness of her heart and this, this she knew, would finally quell the ache in her breast, that dreadful longing she had wrestled with for so long. It had to be right, it had to, otherwise why would she have been healed, and returned to her mortal form? She was not human, her divine nature had not changed. She was still truly herself.
The rules must have changed for them. They must have been! So true was their love for each other, Father God had blessed them, allowing them this and all else that his destiny still contained. They had defeated the Enemy, and this…this was their reward.
Her long legs wrapped around his waist, and carefully he joined with her. Apologies dripped from his lips, for the pain, but the pain was nothing compared to the incomparable and sudden bliss of him being side her. His movement slowed, ginger and cautious, but she became impatient, nails raking his back as she urged him to faster, more powerful effort.
With a grunt he complied, their hot panting breath commingling in the air around them, as they commingled on the narrow bed. She was vaguely aware that she cried out, screaming his name, but it was very far removed from the wild bursts of rapture that shook her. His shout joined hers in the night and it seemed to stretch on and on and on…
Finally he collapsed against her, spent and breathing hard and she cradled him to her breast, stroking his hair, his back, his cheek.
As it was meant to be, they truly, finally, belonged to one another.
It was with this thought she drifted into sleep for the first time in her existence.