A shard of gilded glass, sharp as a winter-star, spun past Kasyana’s ear. Mirela, draped in the pristine, if now soot-stained, white of the Holy Order, floated through the gaping maw of the ruined window. Her face, once a placid mask of sanctity, was a twisted snarl, all delicate features pulled taut by a venomous rage. Her eyes, once pale sky-blue, blazed with a bruised amethyst gleam, reflecting the tainted light of the spear still impaled in the shattered frame. “*You*,” Mirela hissed, her voice a raw rasp that scraped against the shrinking walls of the Bastion. “It was always you! The *demon’s whore*.” Kasyana blinked, a sarcastic smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Charming. Did you fly all this way just to hurl unimaginative insults, Saintess? Or did you perhaps lose your way to the next village bake sale?” Mirela’s twisted face contorted further. “He built this… *cage* for you! Out of the very ore of my people’s offerings, the essence of the Frostlands! He should have been *mine* to purge, mine to save! Not yours to ruin!” As she shrieked, the black holy fire wreathed around her hands pulsed, coalescing into jagged, shadow-ice spikes. She lunged, not with the grace of a saint, but with the feral desperation of a starved wolf. The spikes shot forth, lined on Kasyana, leaving shimmering trails of purple flame in their wake. Kasyana didn’t flinch. Instead, she took a single, deliberate step to the side. The spikes impacted the gilded wall exactly where she had stood, leaving deep, smoking gouges that leaked charred sorcery. The citadel groaned again, an almost sentient tremor, and flagstones beneath Mirela’s slippers began to emit a pale, warning shimmer. “Oh, dear,” Kasyana murmured, a hint of genuine amusement in her tone. “It seems Ozhin’s home is rather particular about unwanted guests. Did you not check the ‘no soliciting’ sign?” Grigza, who had been a silent, six-legged shadow at Kasyana’s heels, let out a low, rumbling growl. His hackles rose, not at Mirela, but at Bozidar, who had retreated toward a cluster of ornate support columns. The lynx’s gaze flickered between the tutor and the woman, teeth bared in silent appraisal. Mirela ignored Grigza, her focus entirely on Kasyana, sour spite rolling off her skin like burnt tallow. “You think this gilded prison protects you? It only makes the purification easier! I can feel his vile power woven into every strand of this monstrosity. He feeds on… *things* the Church hunts, and you are his primary host!” Her next attack was more ambitious. She lifted both hands, and the black fire erupted from her palms, weaving into an expanding web of crackling embers. It spread across the grand hall, threatening to engulf Kasyana and anyone else in its path. “Bozidar, you might want to duck,” Kasyana called out, her voice devoid of panic. “This girl seems to have forgotten her manners. Again.” Bozidar, pale and trembling, pressed himself against a column, his soft gaze darting toward the rafters. He stammered, “My lady, we must… we must evade!” “No need,” Kasyana replied, watching the web sweep closer. Just as it hovered near, she tapped two fingers against the nearest auric panel. Unseen mechanisms hummed deep within the keel. Across the hall, embossed metal bas-reliefs depicting a stylized hunt snapped open. Auric darts, tipped with searing heat, spat from the mouths of the metallic hounds, driving straight into the heart of her spreading web. The impact slammed like a war-drum. The darts, fed by the citadel's furnace, collided with the warped blessing. The lattice tore into smoking ash, tossing Mirela backward. She slammed into a fluted pillar with a dull thud, coughing up blood. “Oh, come now, Saintess,” Kasyana chided, her voice dripping with scorn. “Did you truly believe you could outwit a *demon* who forged a skykeep from sheer spite? His traps are far more imaginative than your crude blasts of recycled liturgy.” Mirela hauled herself away from the masonry, pupils dilated into black pits. The black holy fire around her intensified, growing wilder, more unstable. She screamed, a sound devoid of humanity, and launched herself forward in a frenzied, uncontrolled assault, a whirlwind of corrupted magic and raw hatred. “She’s lost control,” Bozidar whispered, aghast. “Her holy blood… it’s turning against her.” Kasyana simply watched, a calculating glint in her eyes. As Mirela lunged, heedless of any defense, Kasyana pointed two fingers at her chest. The flagstones beneath Mirela’s feet pulsed with blinding, molten radiance. Deep iron vibrations tore through the floor, tolling like funeral bells in the keel. The fluted column Mirela had struck, a mass easily three men high, flared bright. Hairline fractures raced down the stone. With an anvil crack, the monolith severed at base and capital, toppling outward. Mirela, off balance from her charge, skidded beneath the arc of falling granite and gold. She looked up, a fleeting expression of terror replacing her rage, just as the massive column toppled. It struck her with the weight of an avalanche, pinning her to the flagstones. Bone splintered beneath the brass-plated stone, drawing a wet gasp from Mirela. Only her head and shoulders remained free, pinned beneath the fallen shaft. Her gaze, still burning with tainted malice, fixed on Kasyana with wretched disbelief. “A bit dramatic, perhaps,” Kasyana commented, dusting off her hands, “but effective.” Bozidar, ever the gentle soul, rushed forward. “My lady! We must bind her! Before she recovers!” He fumbled at his belt, pulling out a coil of fine, silvered rope. Kneeling beside the trapped girl, Bozidar shook back his cuff, his fingers moving with surgical precision. A needle, wickedly long and thin, its tip gleaming with an oily, sinister iridescence. He plunged it into Mirela’s exposed neck, just behind her ear. Mirela’s body convulsed. Her eyes rolled back, and a guttural, inhuman shriek ripped from her throat, a sound that tore at the very fabric of the air. Her skin, once pristine, began to darken, veins bulging, and her features twisted into something monstrous. Her teeth elongated into fangs, her nails sharpened into talons, and her struggles beneath the pillar became more frantic, less human. The sacred vessel warped, her spine arching until the bones popped, an engineered abomination taking shape under the stone. Bozidar, the patient scholar who had untangled ancient dialects for her, had just induced the blight on command. Cold bile rose in Kasyana's throat. Bozidar rose smoothly, dabbing his cuff as if he had only trimmed a candle wick. “A necessary precaution, my lady. Her madness was too potent.” Before Kasyana could speak, footsteps echoed from the threshold. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and the subtle hum of immense, controlled power. Torches guttered as Ozhin stepped through the high archway. Ozhin. He was even larger than Kasyana remembered, his frame sculpted from muscle and shadow, his skin still slick with what looked like fresh blood. His gaze locked onto Kasyana, amber irises level with an unblinking, predatory calculation. He watched the thrashing, transforming Mirela, and then his gaze settled back on Kasyana, silent, expectant. He was waiting. Waiting for her to beg.

The Corrupted Saint