The Paranormal Saga continues from Scare-Crow's POV in the Ukraine war. Loosely based on real-world events.
My sense of time is streamlined by the passage of Kostroma and I through a dimension beyond the 3D world humans experience. Every time we reappear in real space, the pair of us have traveled 30 miles, though it takes but a slice of a minute to cross it and find the ground with our feet. Whereas it would have taken a day and a half of flight to return to Kiev alone, the Goddess has brought us near there before sunset. What we see is astonishing, at least to my eyes. Russian soldiers and tanks are drawing near to the capital of Kiev. The Ukrainian army is striving to hold back the invasion of everything they have called home.
I have never been involved in a war. Skirmishes yes, brawls, even duels, but not where troops and their machines of destruction mass against each other. But I can see in Kostroma's determined gaze that this is nothing new to her. Humans have attacked each other for many reasons over eons and she cannot be neutral in this conflict. There is such a thing as right and wrong. The Ukrainians have done nothing to provoke this invasion, they seek only to keep their democracy and lands in peace. Kostroma believes in peace, that she can bring it to the people who once spoke her name with reverence before the twilight of the Old Gods. And I will do what I can to stop this violence, for though crows are known to feast in the field after the battle ends, my Brother takes no joy in needless death. To let this atrocity go unanswered would be injustice, and that is one thing both I and Crow agree on.
We stand at the edge of the battlefield, my Cloak of Concealment drawn up, and the Goddess poised behind a tree trunk. She points her red-nailed finger, directing my vision across the surging tank division and the legion in Russian gear following toward the walls of the ancient city that a millennium ago gave rise to Slavic kingdoms.
Kostroma exclaims, "Look there, Giovanni Lloyd. There stands the Goddess of Kyiv, Berehynia."
Atop the highest building in the city was perched a woman with golden wings. Her arms were raised above her head, which was crowned in a wreath of leaves that made her head appear to be identical to the sun setting behind her. A dome of auric light was covering all of Kiev from outer walls up to a mile into the sky. Berehynia was striving to keep the worst harm from her people.
The Goddess beside me explains, "The mortals know her only by her image bronzed by sculptors. She is a symbol of the past glory of the Kievan Rus. Her strength comes from the moment of greatest need for the Ukrainians, but it is waning as the sun sets and doubt sets into the minds of the defenders. They begin to believe themselves to be alone. And though the Kievan will not give up, and will not surrender, they can lose everything if they do not have help. Let us show them, and Berehynia, that they do not stand without allies."
I levitate from the ground to hover then reveal my black-cloaked self to all eyes. As my cowled head dips I declare, "There shall be no time wasted. You do what you are able, my Lady. Scare-Crow enters the field now."
A swirl of crimson energy heralds Kostroma's dimensional passing, while I swoop toward the thick of battle. I do not draw my daggers, as they will be of little use here. This is as much a psychological war, as a physical one. The Goddess appears above a trundling T90 tank, dropping out of midair to remove the big gun barrel from the front with one blow of her hand. She stands before the machine of war fearlessly and begins ripping through its armor, easily as a scythe cuts through wheat. When it lurches to a Halt, the crew within the disabled engine of destruction emerge to attempt further aggression. Yet the slip of a girl, who resembles a peasant maiden of some traditional rural village, evades their violent aims and slaps each man lightly on the cheek. At the touch of Kostroma's hand they fall asleep, lulled by sudden weariness. In succession she moves from tank to tank, disarming them and then sedating its drivers. Guns are emptied at her in vain, for the bullets strike her garnet aura before falling to the ground.
Since I can do nothing against the tanks, I head toward the men charging with machine guns. Coming from their left flank as they are focused on their urban objective, I enter the field of peripheral vision for the men at the end of the column. At first, I only register as a black rag floating in the wind, silent as a feather brushing across silk, and then I begin to disrupt them. With nothing but a gesture and focused will, I cause guns to turn in the hands of one man and then another, the weapons no longer under their control. They shoot at their fellows rather than their intended targets, befuddled by the loss of their Kalashnikovs' aim. Some turn to aim their machine guns at me, but I twist about in the air too quickly for them to draw down and bullets spray around me in desperation. A few strays leave holes in my cloak or sting as they glance off my mail-clad body. I keep the action going, protecting the Ukrainian defenders by turning their attackers against each other. I show mercy and do not aim to kill but maim only: I can see plainly these Russian soldiers are not evil men. Most are young, inexperienced troops, they don't even know the real purpose they were sent to Ukraine for. These are not true believers, but impressionable fellows following orders blindly. They don't even hate the Ukrainians. These are all ethnic Slavs facing each other across earth their ancestors dwelled on for many generations. I feel no supernatural manipulation, no Underworld influence drawing this conflict on. This is purely political, and in such struggles the innocent are sacrificed on the altar of falsehood. So, I knock them out with precise wounds from their own weapons turned against them.
