Geralt walked into the swamp ready to die. He did not expect to return from this journey.
Ciri was gone. Geralt had no hope of her returning. He and Yennefer waited hours, holding out hope that Ciri would walk out at any second. But she didn't. This wasn't like the last time she had left; this time was permanent.
There was nothing Geralt could do except get Ciri's medallion back from the weavess. It was his only remaining goal, and his last.
Geralt walked right past a werewolf and a group of bandits or possibly hunters, he didn't care. The only thing that drove him now was pure unbridled rage. Nothing would stop him.
The marshes seeped its way into his armor. He could feel loose dirt and clay in his boot mixing with stagnant water. Foul smelling muck covered his legs and part of his lower torso.
He pushed his way through the thick reeds. The sun beat down on him. Normally it would have exhausted him to push as hard as he did, but he couldn't give up now. Not while he was so close.
The steeple of the Crones wicked church stuck out above the reeds. Aerondight hissed as Geralt drew it with purpose from its scabbard. The blade glowed faintly yellow from the runes Geralt had socketed by a master rune right. Geralt hoped someone would stumble upon his sword and put it to good use or at least sell it to someone who would after whatever fight was about to go down.
Geralt could hear the crone talking to herself in the crumbling church. He also heard the heartbeats of drowner's, ghouls, and water hags all around him. Any sane person would have been terrified. Once upon a time Geralt probably would have felt some tinge of fear. But not anymore. Losing everything he had worked for killed any feelings he might have had.
Geralt stopped a few feet from the doorway. The crone was waiting for him.
"I've been expecting you."
"You have something of mine." Geralt stared the crone down and the crone stared right back. They sized each other up, waiting for the other to make the first move. The crone broke the silence.
"You hear all the monsters, don't you? They're here for you. You've slaughtered their brethren for coin. Used their bodies to brew your oils and potions to make slaughtering more even easier. Enough is enough. You may cut me down, but you will not leave this swamp alive. Tell me, did Zireael-"
No one knew what the crone was going to say. Geralt struck swiftly, so swiftly not even the inhuman reflexes of the crone could perceive the strike. Her decapitated head fell to the mushy ground.
Got off easy, Geralt thought.
He stepped over the crone's body and into her dilapidated home. He started searching, not putting any effort into being subtle. He threw books off shelve, kicked over the furniture, cut up the large tapestry hanging in the back. It didn't help in the search for Cirri's medallion, but it made him feel better, but only a little bit.
Destruction helped, but only a little bit.
In his blind rage, Geralt threw a small wooden lock box against the wall. He would have kept going on his rampage, but a glint of silver caught his eye.
Geralt stopped and stood perfectly still for what seemed like minutes before he finally walked over and brushed the rubble away. He picked up the last belonging and pressed it to his forehead. He sat for some time, while monsters gathered outside.
He thought about what was about to happen. He wondered if there was any way to make it out alive, to see Yennefer one last time.
A small army of monsters had gathered outside waiting for the door to open and to finally put an end to the White Wolf. All sorts of monsters were gathered in the bog. Ghouls, nekkers, specters, vampires, foglets, leshens, and even a chort stood waiting for their chance to kill the famous Geralt of Rivia.
Geralt poured all his remaining oils on Aerondight and used his glove to rub them in. He didn't know or care if it would be effective. He downed as many potions as his body could take, not caring if there were any ill side effects. This would be his last fight one way or another.
Geralt kicked open the feeble door. There was a moment were the two opposing forces looked at each other, but it was only a moment. Then all hell broke loose.
Geralt whirled Aerondight with all the strength he could muster. One after another the monsters fell. At first Geralt tried to be precise, but quickly gave up on that in exchange for speed. It was to chaotic to give a damn about precision.
Geralt didn't even think as his blade sliced through muscle and bone. He didn't need to. They called him the Butcherer of Blaviken for a reason.
Blood soon soaked everything. The ground, the trees, the buildings, especially Geralt himself. He had to take a second to wipe the blood from his eyes, so he could see what he was hitting. A lucky drowner seized the opportunity and pounced on the witcher.
Geralt saw the drowner as its claws cut into his shoulder. He jerked his body to the side and the drowner fell into the horde once more. The drowner hadn't been able to get through the chain mail. The most it did was break a link or two.
Geralt moved his fingers and cast igni as a chort charged at him. Igni hit its mark. Geralt slashed once at the chort. The flaming giant blinded by fire and rage charged into the crone's church which promptly caught fire.
Geralt didn't even notice as the seemingly endless horde of monsters began to thin. A minute later Geralt decapitated the last water hag.
He huffed as he looked on at his handy work. He suspected that a hundred monsters or possibly even two hundred were scattered across the bog. Limbs littered the ground.
A drowner, missing its legs tried to crawl away. Geralt put a quick end to it as he made his way out of the bog and towards the only person still important to him.
Geralt washed as much of the blood off himself as he could in the river outside Novigrad. He knew Yennefer wouldn't stand for him to enter their room soaked in as much blood as he was. The river water wasn't much better, but at least he wouldn't be tracking blood through Rosemary and Thyme. Water was much easier to clean out of wood than blood.
Novigrad guards looked weirdly at the soaking wet witcher make his way through town. They knew better than to ask any questions.
Dandelion perked up at the sight of Geralt. He rushed over.
"Geralt, you're back. You're actually back. Did you get-"
"Of course, I did," Geralt huffed.
He took the swords off his back and shoved them into Dandelions arms.
"Sell them, or hang them up, I don't care."
"What?"
"I'm done."
Dandelion tried to speak again, but Geralt took off up the stairs before Dandelion could get a word out. As Geralt made his way up the stairs he realized how tired he was. His muscles ached, and his joints cracked. Geralt shook his head and realized he was standing in front of their room.
The door opened before Geralt could open it. Yennefer stood in front of him without an expression on her face. Only her violet eyes showed any hint of emotion. She wore a black nightgown, but she hadn't slept since Geralt left.
"Did you-"
Geralt lifted Ciri's medallion as an answer.
"I see. Well, come in." Yennefer gestured for Geralt enter. "I'll draw you a bath. You're filthy. What did you do, bath in the river?"
"Would you rather me to be covered in blood?"
"I suppose the river is better."
Geralt undressed and slipped into the warm bath. The water seemed to soak straight to his soul. He scrubbed until the water turned red with the remaining blood. The water darkened a little more as the river mud came free.
He watched as the water turned from red to clear. He also felt it warm up.
Yen, thought Geralt. Perks of having a sorceress as his lover.
"Are you ready, Geralt?"
Geralt thought about Ciri, about how he had been too hard on her. He couldn't shake the thought that he was to blame for Ciri's death. That his foolishness caused her death.
"Geralt, stop thinking about that. You did what you did, whether it was right or not doesn't matter. Our daughter is gone, and that is not your fault."
"You know I hate it when you read my mind."
"When you think like that, it's a good thing I do."
Yennefer untied her night gown and stepped on it with her delicate feet as she slipped into the tub with Geralt. They had been in a similar position a long time ago. This time they would follow through.
"Are you in the mood for love making or shall we get it over with?" Yennefer asked after a few minutes of being held in Geralt's arms.
"I'm devastated, but I'd like to feel something good before the end."
Dandelion would find them the next morning and let out a ghastly scream at the sight of Geralt and Yennefer soaking in a tub red with their blood, with their wrists slit.
Without Ciri, Geralt and Yennefer couldn't keep on going. Now, they were all together. United by death.