Koschei the Deathless, Chapter 4

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Koschei rolled over onto his stomach and coughed up a mouthful of phlegm and blood. His massive body felt heavy and awkward as he attempted to rise to his feet. The warrior's fingers dug deep into the soft earth as he pushed himself upwards. His head was dizzy and his eyes stung. The realization that his helmet had been thrown off finally sank in and a low moan issued from his cracked and broken lips. This woman was strong...stronger than he had been led to believe. The men who had sent him had warned him that she was powerful and not to be underestimated, but they were only words spoken by a handful of frightened men and he had dismissed them. Laughed them off. Now he saw the folly of his mistake. This Soviet Superwoman had managed to do what dozens of the most powerful warriors in history could not: knock the great Koschei the Deathless to the ground and spill his blood. He was not yet defeated, but a seed of doubt was planted in him now and it was beginning to grow fruit. Could she call upon enough strength to defeat him? It seemed as if the more angry and beaten down she became, the stronger she returned to confront him. It was not possible! Koschei the Deathless was not to lose here, in this foreign land, at the hands of a woman! He wiped the blood from his lips with the side of his hand and quickly turned around.



The Soviet Superwoman's ragged fist shot out and crashed into the side of his head like a freight train. Koschei stumbled a few feet to his left. Olga took a deep, ragged breath. She hurt all over. Her flesh was knitting closed, regenerating the terrible injuries inflicted on it by this so-called legend and doing so caused her incredible pain. It would take time however, time she no longer had. Koschei had to be stopped now while she still had the strength left to beat him and then she would force him to tell her who it was that was responsible for all this carnage. He claimed to be immortal and she was dangerously close to testing that theory. As he was reeling she shot her long, heavily muscled leg out and slammed it hard into his kneecap. There was a wet snapping sound and Koschei buckled, letting out a terrible snarl of pain and anger. With his helmet now free Olga was surprised by his appearance. Koschei the Deathless appeared as an ancient, heavily-wrinkled old man with a long, snow white beard and heavy brows. His head was bald save a few wisps of loose, snowy hair. It was a strange, striking contrast to the rest of his brutish, ogre-like form. A combination of Father Christmas and a great troll. Koschei dropped back down to one knee, his hands planting down on the earth in front of him again. Olga rushed forward to continue her assault.



The stone smashed into the side of her head hard, spinning her around. Koschei dropped the bloodied rock and moved to regain his footing. It took only a moment for him to steady himself before the Soviet heroine descended on him again. Her knuckles ripped across his cheek like a dull band-saw. Koschei blocked the next incoming punch and swung his meaty arm in a wide arc. His opponent hovered backwards and out of the path of the wrecking ball-like fist, bringing another fist crashing into his aged and wrinkled visage. Her left hand tightened into a ball and connected violently with his collarbone. Right, left, right. Koschei threw his arms up to shield himself from her flurry of blows. Instead of continuing her assault, the Soviet Superwoman flew backwards a few feet and slammed her hands together hard. The force of the impact created a powerful shock-wave that tossed the giant warrior to the ground again, throwing fallen leaves in all directions as they danced in the wind.



"You are strong little девочка. A terrible force of nature the likes of which I have never met...but I am Koschei the Deathless," the large man bellowed as he stood up, thumping his chest with a dirty, blooy hand, "and I cannot die!"



Olga felt the ground shake as he charged her, shoulder checking her into the side of a tree with enough force to split it's trunk as if it were made of eggshells. The raven-haired amazon let out a yell of fury and responded with a right hook to the side of his now unprotected face. Koschei rolled with the savage punch and delivered his own powerful body-blow to her already injured liver. Olga let out a cry that mixed both incredible pain and anger, her body shuddering from the viciousness of the punch. Both of her fists shot out, crashing into both of his ears with a thunderclap. Now it was Koschei's turn to bellow as his hands immediately shot upwards, gripping the sides of his head. The Soviet Superwoman took a step backwards and lashed out with a brutal kick to his genitals. The great man doubled over, snarling and cursing in his native tongue. It was the opening that she needed and Olga took full advantage of it by swinging upwards and planting her fist directly under his chin with all the strength she had.



Koschei fell backwards into the leaves, his arms spread out to the sides. It looked as if her blow had knocked him unconscious. Olga approached the old man cautiously where he lay, her right arm wrapped tight across her injured abdomen. His breathing was labored and his eyelids fluttered. He was still alive and to her surprise he was also still conscious, albeit barely. Olga scrambled towards his head and reared back her shaking fist, taking hold of what remained of his shoulder armor in her other hand. Seeing him like this, an ancient, almost sad and now broken old man gave her pause.



"Do not make me do this. Yield Koschei!"



The Slavic man's weary, red-rimmed eyes focused on her for a moment before he slowly nodded his head up and down.



"I yield little девочка...you have such power...such strength...the likes of which I have never experienced before." he gasped through his broken, yellowed teeth.



"Who sent you? Who is your master?" she demanded, shaking him to keep him awake, her fist still hovering in the air, ready to strike.



"I do not know who they are, simply that they possess the golden chest and thus command my soul. I was to bring you back to them, dead or alive, and so I shall. I will take you to them Olga Yezhov that you may deal with them directly."



Olga stared down at the old man's face and slowly lowered her trembling fist. "You are truly the Koschei of legend after all then, da?"



Koschei nodded. "I am little девочка and until this day I had only known defeat once, at the hands of Ivan Tsarevitch...certainly never to a woman. The Little Mother will know of your name soon enough, if she does not already."



A shiver shot down Olga's spine at the mention of the Old Crone, yet she set her jaw and glared down at the defeated giant. "You will take me to your handlers now. Enough talk."



"I will do as you ask...just be careful what it is that you wish for little девочка. You may not like the answers that you seek."


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This piece of magnificent artwork was commissioned by the incredibly talented for this story by

Another big thanks goes to my partner in crime, , whose ideas, inspiration and support are so very important. .

Soviet-Superwoman and the story are my property and creations. Koschei the Deathless in an ancient Slavic myth that I am having fun borrowing from liberally.

This story takes place in