Chapter Two
Vibrations rumbled through the earth in the twilit hours of dawn. Geralt's eyes shot open, his mind instantly awake, his hand already reaching for the swords he hadn't bothered unstrapping from his back. Sliding his silver sword from its sheath, Geralt eased into a crouch, searching for the source of the disturbance.
Something was coming. Something big.
A sharp snap sounded across the clearing from Geralt—a large branch breaking under a lumbering foot. Geralt focused in on its direction, straining to glean any more clues as to the beast's identity. At the same moment, the forest went silent, all other manor of being conceding the territory to its true master. In the vacuum of sound, Geralt could hear the rustling of leaves drafted into the beast's wake. Then deliberate, powerful breaths. It was scenting Geralt, pinpointing his location as Geralt was striving to do the same.
Then it appeared.
Through the hazy mist of dawn came an enormous fiend. It was larger than any Geralt had ever seen or heard of, at least twice the size of a typical male. The fiend was black as midnight, with a blaze of white running down its chest and up around its neck. The collar met at its shoulder blades where the white shot out in a scruff of longer hair. Massive ivory elk antlers adorned its angular head, a third eye situated directly between the set. It set its feet as it moved into the open, head held high displaying the starkly contrasting shock of white across its broad chest. Its nostrils flared as its eyes locked onto Geralt.
Geralt was both awed and cowed by its majesty. This beast had probably wandered the land far longer than Geralt himself. Longer than any other fiend in existence. Was this what had taken Mikel? Geralt didn't think so. It just didn't make any sense. A fiend that large would have left a clear trail. It couldn't have been anywhere in the area or Geralt would have seen the signs. It was just regular bad luck that it happened upon Geralt now.
The fiend stood majestically across the clearing, sides heaving in time with its powerful breaths, the mist eddying around them as the air was forced from its massive lungs. Geralt wished he wouldn't have to slay such a noble creature. But he knew from the moment their eyes met that there was no escape. The fiend knew something had invaded its territory. Something not quite human. Something dangerous. And it would not let such a threat go unchallenged. Geralt would have to kill it.
Or die trying.
With one last snort, the beast let out a mighty roar and charged straight for Geralt. Ready for the assault, Geralt judged his timing, factoring in the beast's great speed. He was shocked by how much distance it had covered in so short a time. It was only a few yards away in a matter of seconds. Geralt sprang into action.
As the fiend came upon Geralt, he ducked under its antlers and rolled from underneath its belly to the side between its front and back leg, all the while swinging upward in an arc toward its flank, where the skin was weaker. A fiend that large was bound to have extremely tough hide. But Geralt didn't expect the hide to be as resilient as it turned out to be. Coming up to one knee, Geralt glanced up at the end of his sword. It hadn't even drawn blood. And the beast seemed more annoyed than anything else at the tiny scratch its prey had delivered.
The fiend turned and pounded up to Geralt at a slower pace this time, its rotting teeth showing in a feral snarl, swiping out with its paw once it drew close enough. Geralt was forced to hastily backstep out of its reach then struck out at the fiend's hand as it passed. But the coarse hair growing there proved too thick and the blow glanced off without biting in.
Geralt didn't let the lack of success fluster him. He moved in, ducking another blow and thrusting up into the soft flesh where arm and chest met. The following cry told Geralt he had finally hit home and warm blood trickled down onto his head and shoulders.
The fiend reacted with lightning speed. It skipped backwards and struck with its uninjured arm, landing a blow that knocked the wind from Geralt and sent him flying. Before Geralt could even comprehend what had happened, he was crashing into the forest bed. He transformed the landing into a roll and recovered, throwing himself to his feet to ready for the next hit.
The fiend was angry now.
It was coming at Geralt from seemingly every angle, striking with all four feet and antlers. It had shown its strength and speed. Now it was showing its agility. Geralt was barely able to keep up with it. Barely able to dodge out of its way before it struck again. He couldn't even begin to think about retaliating. After a minute or so, Geralt was starting to slow. Dread was creeping into his gut. Due to the fiend's size, Geralt had to put an immense amount of effort into each leap. Twice as big, twice as far to dodge. He wouldn't last much longer at this.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, Geralt came out of a roll just a foot too short. He managed to rotate as he stood, almost avoiding the beast's antlers. Almost.
The very tip of the ivory stalk caught one of the leather plates covering Geralt's shoulder and tore it clean off, slamming Geralt into the ground at the same time. Geralt grunted with the force of the hit, but he gritted his teeth and pushed himself to his feet. Shockingly, the fiend wasn't coming at him again. It must have tired of Geralt constantly evading him because it was standing stock still maybe ten yards from where Geralt now stood with sword raised. Eyes narrowed, Geralt waited and watched. A heartbeat later, the color drained from his face when he realized what the fiend was up to.
It was summoning its power with its third eye. It would stun Geralt, daze him. And Geralt would be powerless against it if it succeeded. He wasted no more time, racing for the fiend's head. Nimbly sidestepping the fiend's swinging antlers, Geralt plunged his sword straight into the eye in the middle of its forehead. Blood spurted into Geralt's face and a piercing shriek shook the trees.
Once again unable to predict the injured fiend's reactions, Geralt found himself swept up in its antlers, desperately hanging on to keep himself from being impaled. It took every ounce of strength to keep himself in place, the fiend doing its best to dislodge its attacker. Not knowing how to get himself out of his current predicament, Geralt started lashing out wildly toward the beast's face whenever he could manage it. One such attempt scored a gash across the beast's snout, just above its nose. But Geralt had had to reach further than he had meant to accomplish the feat and his grip on the antler failed him. The fiend flung him across the clearing with a mighty whip of its head.
Arms wheeling, Geralt tried frantically to salvage the unceremonious dismount and land without breaking anything. He partially succeeded. He landed on his feet, but one leg got caught underneath himself before he could bend his knees and tuck into a roll. He felt his left ankle twist as it snagged into the pliant earth, his knee overextending as he toppled over the top of his leg. Snapping his leg up out of the ground, Geralt caught himself before he fell forward, taking a few limping steps to slow himself to a stop. His ankle throbbed miserably each time it took his weight and Geralt could feel his boot tighten around it as it began to swell. It was badly sprained at the very least. But Geralt had bigger problems at the moment.
The fiend was livid. Blood flowed freely down its ruined face. A face that was already surging for Geralt, barely a yard away by the time Geralt had turned. He acted purely on instinct, knowing that he wouldn't have had time to dodge even if his leg were fully functional. Geralt sent a flash of Igni at the fiend's head, hoping against hope that it would be enough to at least send the beast veering off course.
Either the fiend didn't have much experience with fire or it truly did not expect Geralt to muster any sort of retaliation because it went into a full-on panic. Once more showing its masterful agility, it stopped dead and swiveled directly in front of Geralt, kicking out at him with both back feet. Geralt attempted to backpedal, but his ankle crumpled underneath him and he fell onto his back.
The stumble actually ended up saving Geralt because the fiend kicked right over the top of him. Unfortunately, Geralt was now fully underneath the fiend and he could only watch as its foot came crashing back down onto Geralt's lower leg, snapping through the bones like twigs. Geralt's cry cut through the lightening sky as agony spiked up his leg and somehow spread to his core. One of the bones had speared through his calf, dragging into the ground when Geralt rolled to his side.
The fiend was off across the clearing, still battering at the flames engulfing its face.
Geralt reached out with clawed hands toward his mangled leg, breathing stilted with pain. Some sort of sixth sense kept track of the fiend's movements while Geralt fought against the pain. He didn't know how or why, but something had him struggling to stand—an inborn instinct or ingrained training drill reasserting itself in Geralt's time of need. Using his sword to balance, Geralt dragged himself up onto his good leg, groaning through clenched teeth as the lower half of his left leg dangled and brushed the ground. He could barely see straight, shaking with the effort of keeping himself together.
Gathering himself, Geralt peered across the clearing to find the fiend staring him down. Nostrils flared underneath a singed and still smoldering face, delicate trails of smoke curling up past its antlers. It took in the scent of Geralt's blood, of his defeat. Baring its teeth, it swiped the ground in powerful strokes, sending dirt and decaying leaves flying into its belly. It knew it had won and was savoring every moment.
For his part, Geralt steadied himself, shoving down the pain to come up with some kind of plan. His options were severely limited. He had no chance of fleeing. He would have to face the fiend where he stood. This would be his last stand—possibly of his life. But he wouldn't even be able to wield his sword effectively on one leg. Certainly not to the level of skill he would need to defeat the mostly untouched fiend.
All of the possibilities ran through Geralt's mind in an instant. He was running out of time. He would just have to go with his gut. A rapidly forming idea settled into his mind. It was an absurd idea. A dangerous one. But it was the best shot he had. Quite frankly, the only one.
Then the beast charged.
Marshaling every bit of strength he could, Geralt reeled back, pulling his sword over his head, and, heaving himself forward, flung his sword end over end toward the encroaching fiend, nearly losing his balance in the process. With a half hop forward, Geralt righted himself and, not a second after the sword left his hands, sent a tidal wave of Aard flooding right behind it. He watched the sword tumble through the air, the fiend completely oblivious to the threat. Geralt was confident in his throw. He knew as soon as he had released that he had aimed true. He just wasn't sure that it would be enough to stop the beast.
Just as he had intended, the sword struck home. Right in the center of the fiend's third eye.
But it only served to enrage the beast further as it lodged into its face. It wound up on its haunches, preparing to jump, to hurl itself the last remaining yards to Geralt's position. And Geralt would be powerless to stop it, to avoid it. The fiend's front legs were just leaving the ground, its hind legs springing out behind it.
Then the wall of Aard crashed into its face, driving the sword deeper, burying it to the hilt. The beast's body went slack, its eyes rolling into its head. The sword had pierced its brain, killing it instantly.
But Geralt's ordeal wasn't over, he quickly recognized. The fiend had already gotten itself off the ground, had already fired itself like a bolt from a ballista. Its momentum would carry it straight into Geralt, most likely impaling him with its antlers. Geralt could only watch as the hulking mass careened toward him, falling through the air. But as the body approached the ground once more, the head dipped down, the heavy antlers catching in the dirt, pulling the head around to the side.
The turn of events was both a blessing and a curse. The good news was that Geralt wouldn't instantly be gored and crushed to death. The bad news was that the rest of the body was now swinging around the front end like a pendulum and would reach far enough to bash into Geralt in its arc. And Geralt would offer about as much resistance as a fly would to a paddle.
There was nothing he could do.
"Shit," Geralt swore to himself before doing the only thing he could to save himself some damage. A fraction of a second before the fiend hit, Geralt shielded himself with Quen. It lessened the battering ram of a blow, but Geralt still went hurtling through the air, the mist swirling in to fill the void he left in his wake. Then Geralt's back flattened against a tree, breaking through the remaining strength of the shield. Something cracked in Geralt's core and all breath was driven out of his lungs as he dropped face down to the ground.
He was barely conscious. Everything was numb, even his leg. The slightest bit of panic told him that his spine could have been what he had felt crack inside him. But any sort of coherent thought was becoming harder and harder to develop. Eyes fluttering, Geralt tried to raise himself onto one arm, but failed. Utterly spent, Geralt collapsed into the dirt. And let unconsciousness claim him.