In the barbaric lands of Lithuania, when many people believed in magic and the people’s faith rested in false gods, a Sorcerer, so powerful he could only be a god in human form, came and was worshipped by these vile, superstitious people. Our Lady was in tears over the horrible, demonic, sacrifices being performed and the poor innocent babies being burned in honor of this psycho. When she could no longer bear the evil of it all, she appeared, to a devout Polish knight who would serve her purpose.
“Young Knight, you who are loyal to the one, true God; you who lives a morally good life of sacrifice and prayer; go to the lands of Lithuania and set right those people’s lives. There is one there who sold his soul for power and will soon lead Lithuania to hell. Convert them and destroy the vile low-life who dares set himself above God. Go now and defend His holy Name.”
A young man in armor set out that day for a pagan land with a sword at his side and Our Lord in his heart. He had been clopping along at a quick pace when a funnel cloud, undoubtedly the Sorcerer’s handiwork, appeared before him, the few clouds merging together to form a column of lightning and pure darkness. He dismounted and began to pray feverishly to any saint who would listen and recite every prayer he had ever heard. It was gaining fast and soon enveloped him.He knew the end was coming but still had faith in God. He could hear the wind howling around him but amazingly he was still unhurt as though it had passed around him. The screams of rage and confusion that pierced his ears showed him something. His foe was afraid of him: him: a complete nobody. This realization struck him like a punch to the face and it filled him with unfamiliar feelings; faith and confidence. He felt as though he could triumph over any evil. But this feeling was temporary. Eventually, the storm wore itself out and the Sorcerer’s shouted curses were barely audible in the dying wind. He crossed over the border into Lithuania and was almost immediately confronted by the enemy horde. Again he prayed and again he was invincible. When they saw they could not harm him they escorted him to their master who had changed to the form of a dragon, the form of his soul. He blew an experimental flame that would have melted his armor to a lump of iron. He rushed forward and drew his sword from its scabbard only to have it glance off the scales in a shower of sparks.
Suddenly the monster spoke in a cruel, booming voice, ” Your weapon cannot harm me. No weapon in existence can pierce my skin. It is six inches thick and strong as diamond.” All the while that he spoke the Knight was wrapping a crucifix on a chain around and around the cross guard of his sword. With a mighty cry of “Who is like unto God!?”, he thrust his sword into the dragon’s rotten heart and twisted it violently. The dragon had never known such pain in his life. He began to glow and chains sprouted out of him where the Knight had stabbed. They enclosed on him and with a blinding flash of searing light a cross appeared, burnt into the ground and the Sorcerer’s bones rested in the middle, as though God were mocking him. He wanted to be like God and he was in the worst way possible. He was crucified. That night was Hallow’s Eve. The day when hundreds of people would have been satanically sacrificed but the young Pole was able to prevent that.