Alright. A few points before the chapter. One of the comments mentioned that it's weird for the Hunter, Johannes, to be remembering France in his dream. Or by extension that he mentioned German culture in a previous chapter. That is true, though Ludwig, in his strange horse-head-form in the Old Hunters DLC, asks if his church hunters are the brave Spartans he hoped they'd be. As such, with my superficial intellect, I deduced that Yharnam is on earth, or at least a version of earth. It's shallow, I know, but I like it. I felt the need to explain that.
Anyway, here you go.
Six days had passed.
A man was fleeing through Novigrad's dark corners. He dared not to move underground, for the drowners would find him, but he could also not stay.
"Jemma!?" He called out to his comrade.
"Yes." Came the laboured answer from behind him.
"Where are the others staying?"
"A house outside, not far. We can make it through the north gate."
"Where is Emer?"
Both men turned around and stopped. The narrow alley seemed to rise and tighten, becoming a dark valley that swallowed all light.
"Emer?" One of them called out. His hand fell to his hip where his axe was fastened to his belt in a loop. He received no answer.
"Emer!?" He yelled now, louder, but the alley stayed dead silent.
"Come, Aleksander." The man Jemma shook his shoulder. "The boss will know what to do."
"The boss doesn't know horseshit if it hit his face." The other man snarled. "If he did, he wouldn't have sent us against this monster. He should've just forget the madman and be done with it."
Both men sunk deeper into the wet shadows as a shriek rang through the night. The only light behind the buildings from the moon that hung menacingly low over the horizon, dipping the roofs in an eerie pale blue.
"Emer?" Aleksander all but whispered.
A male figure stumbled into view, only a black silhouette against the back of the alley. He held his midsection and his head was hanging low. Every step was tired.
Aleksander was about to take a step forward, but Jemma stopped him, urging him to move so they would escape. They needed to leave the city, hide somewhere where no one knew them. Down south maybe, in Nilfgaardian territory. They could cross the border undetected and settle again as honest men. What had the boss been thinking?
The figure turned towards them. In the weak twilight, they could just make out the man's face. It was Emer, a young man who had only been with them for a few months. He had a bad temper, but he was a good kid, Jemma thought.
His knees buckled and Emer fell, his arm slipped away and they could see the reflections of slick blood across his lower body. Something spilled out. The monster had gutted him.
"Gods dammit!" Aleksander growled and this time, Jemma could not hold him back. He ran forward, only to skid to a halt, a blink of an eye later as another silhouette stepped around the corner. Terror gripped both men, as they saw again, the beast that had brought them so much bloodshed this night.
Darkness seemed to seep from his form, his coat gently licking around his legs. His face was obscured by the blackness of night, only his hat, with the back ripped out, forming this strange, wolfish appearance, was distinguishable against the lighter background of the night. His hand gripped still the longsword like it was an extension of himself. He wielded the two handed weapon with practiced ease, a baleful confidence that, as they learned, spelled doom for even experienced fighters.
But Aleksander had stared down superior foes before and he had prevailed by his cunning intellect and flexibility. However this man, no, this thing, was different.
No mortal man was this fast, nor this strong, tearing down men and doors like paper. No mortal man could keep on fighting after the injuries that he had sustained, yet he stood here, his eyes, even though they couldn't see them, unblinking and fixated upon them, he could feel it.
The silhouette tilted his head and cast a pitiful look at the dying Emer, who was still on his knees and in an admirable effort to recollect his guts into his own body. Without any flourish or decorum, his right shot forward, spearing the poor boy through the back of the skull, the tip of the sword reflecting inside his mouth. He pulled back and the suffering Emer finally fell backwards, his face a mask of shock and wonder as he stared up into the star spangled sky.
"You…" Aleksander started again, drawing his own weapon. Emer had been a strain on his nerves but he was a good kid. A kind hearted soul, who only searched to belong. He did not know who deserved his anger right now, his superior or Emer's killer, but the latter was right here and-
Jemma's tugging on his sleeve pulled him back to reality. They needed to flee. None of them could best this beast in a one on one fight. Both took a step back and for a moment, it seemed as if the figure down the alley was dropping his shoulders in exasperation.
Then he started to run towards them.
Within a second, the shadowy figure propelled itself from a standing position into a full sprint. His shoulders were high and his head low, like a tiger. Aleksander thought to have seen a faint light in his eyes, cold and unfeeling.
"Run!" He yelled, uncaring now if the city guard heard them or not. Nothing they could do was worse than this demon. He turned around and ran as fast as he could, Jemma before him and breathing heavily. Like men possessed, they ran into the street, hookers and drunkards jumping aside to avoid being barrelled over by the two armed men. They turned right and now, with the street newly illuminated, he dared to look back again. The sight convinced him only again that they were being chased by a monster.
The man's coat was still slick with the blood of their comrades. Small droplets were flung away from his hat as he dashed after them, blade tucked behind his shoulder. But his eyes, they never left them. Like they were tied to them and Aleksander did not doubt that, should they split up, one eye would follow him and the other would follow Jemma.
He turned forward and narrowly dodged a large man, carrying a basket of some sort as the city gate came into view a short distance away and behind a literal crowd of people too. It seemed as if a band of musicians was drawing a lot of bodies here. Cover for him and his companion to vanish.
Jemma had apparently thought the same thing, as he nodded towards him and slipped off in between celebrating men and women. With a last look backwards, Aleksander checked where their hunter was, but did not see him anywhere, so he dropped his blue hat to the ground and melted into the crowd.
He found Jemma sitting on a rock, deep in the forest north of Novigrad. The younger mercenary was still shaking from their encounter that night. The first beams of light were breaching the forest's ceiling as Aleksander stepped closer.
"Hey."
Jemma turned, not responding, only nodding, before settling his eyes back against the ground.
"We have to tell the others. Boss needs to let this go. This is much too much for us."
Jemma nodded.
"Let's wait until it gets dark again. Then, if he hasn't found us out, he will have lost us. A bit further I saw a cabin."
"What if he had let us go?"
"What?"
Jemma turned around again. "What if he let us leave, so we betray the other's location to him?"
Aleksander had thought about this as well. The killer had been gaining on them and should at least have tried to stick as far as possible with them. Yet, when they had escaped through the crowd, no sign of him was to be seen. Vanished into thin air, with only a few guards craning their necks like a flock of hungry chicken. Jemma was right, they couldn't lead him to the rest of them. And he only hoped that Akhorn would listen to them.
Johannes cursed inwardly as he stomped back towards the city walls. He had lost them both in the crowd and then they must've split up. Both must have travelled quite some distance along a shallow stream, so no footsteps remained and the area to search was much too large for him. He had taken some time to wash the blood off of his coat and leather hat, once more grateful for the article's easy maintainability. He doubted the guards, even though they couldn't have seen him leave, would let him back into the walls while he was covered in someone else's blood.
Now that he thought about it, he felt the sting of his own injuries. None of the wounds he had received were life threatening to him, though they would surely have at least crippled a normal man. One of the men he had tailed, had surprised him by throwing a large dart at him, that lodged into the flesh beneath his collarbone, while another, later, had buried a small dagger in his neck, striking one of the major blood vessels that ran up along the throat. With the old blood coursing through his veins however, they had already closed, only occasionally feeling uncomfortable as the skin became taught over his muscles again.
He passed a trio of early risers. All women, probably off to make their daily errands. Only their fearful visages reminded him of the sword still in his right and that even with the most earnest efforts, his clothes were still very much stained in red.
He apologized and after quickly cleaning off the blood from his steel, sheathed it again and fastened the scabbard to his hip, leaving the whispering farmers wives behind.
An hours walk and a half lie about bandits to the city's gatekeeper borough him back to Yennefer's residence. The poor bird that these imbeciles had nailed to the front door as a promise of misguided vengeance was still there, so he pulled it's constraints carefully from the wood, aware of the suspicious glances he drew from more than a single passersby. A few steps aside, he buried the pitiful thing under a street sign, then placed a pebble on the small grave. The irony of his actions did not escape him. Half a dozen men lay slain in the streets and here he was, conducting a funeral for a juvenile crow.
He had hoped that the two women were still asleep. At least Ciri was prone to sleeping in when allowed, though he knew that Yennefer did not practice such laziness on a regular basis. He would have snuck in, replaced his ruined shirt and trousers and made sure that the damages on his coat were repaired.
Then again, he'd also hoped to dismantle the whole ring of conspirators in one fell swoop when he set out in the night to stalk after the messagemen with the bird. In the end, he had been careless, discovered and forced to attack with all the rage he could muster without losing himself in the blood again. Two were dispatched easily on the sidewalk, and three others after he had breached the door. The sixth, Emer, as he had learnt, had almost fled. A small pang of guilt hit him after the realisation that he had killed the boy for nothing, since the last two had still managed to escape.
He shouldn't have sliced him up like that. After they had been routed, he could have easily captured him and spent some time with interrogation. Johannes did not have extensive experience in the subject, but he was certain that a Hunter like him was able to impress sufficient terror on a young mind like Emer's and could have broken him rather quickly.
He decided that he was done with scolding himself and ascended the last few steps to Yennefer's door, unlocking it as silently as the mechanism allowed. Unfortunately, as he stepped inside, he was immediately greeted by the sorceress and one other man, both of them lounging close to each other on the tea ensemble in the main room.
"Johannes. Good morning."
"As well as to you." He nodded to her, taking off his hat. Then he looked at the man.
Even sitting, he was an imposing figure, surely only a minor bit shorter than Johannes himself, but in exchange much more muscular. His chest seemed to burst from his shirt and his arms were toned and powerful. Even so, he seemed agile enough, being slim enough to be quick in a fight if necessary. His face was rugged and scarred, one crossing upwards over the left side of his face, disturbing the stubble that grew from his chiselled chin high to his cheeks. His snow white hair was held together in a loose ponytail and his eyes…
Boring into him, the man's eyes were those of a cat, yellow and sharp, the iris a vertical slit. He regarded him with a well educated look and the Hunter would have possibly exacted the same analysis onto him if he did not already know who he was. Ciri had told him a fair bit about him.
Master witcher Geralt of Rivia. The white wolf. The butcher of Blaviken.
"Greetings." The witcher said in a gravelly, deep voice. Johannes was painfully aware of his scrutinizing gaze that rested briefly on his scarred neck and bloodied shirt, as well as the sheathed weapon still in his hand.
"Long night?"
"Early morning." Johannes answered, fighting his own tension. He knew that Geralt of Rivia was not his enemy, but the man radiated a disposition that the Hunter could not ignore. A strong, but abstract feeling of danger. Something that he quickly deduced by some brief and admittedly barely humble reflection, must be what others might feel when facing himself.
"Successful?" The witcher asked, narrowing his eyes and grinning slightly in challenge.
"Not entirely, I am afraid." The Hunter admitted. Strangely enough, he felt annoyed by the fact. He had felt anger during his hunt, but it was never of any immediate consequence, rather directed at the forces that loomed over the doomed city, driving him forward to new violence.
Now, he was annoyed with himself. Whoever the men were that he had hunted through the alleys and streets, they were up to no good. It was possible that they meant to harm the sorceress or Ciri, something that he would not let happen. As such, he had immediately upon discovery of their ominous threat, nailing a carcass to the house, begun to stalk them with the intent of eliminating the danger before the women could find out.
He had failed though and now, two of the perpetrators were on the run and would naturally warn any other accomplices. Death and pain meant little to him, yet he would not be responsible for any harm done to Ciri. So he would pursue them, secrecy or not.
The witcher stood up and walked towards him. He was tall, only a finger's width shorter than Johannes and much broader in stature. Unconsciously he took a step back to face him fully, gripping the scabbard in his hand a tiny bit tighter.
"You know we should talk." Geralt said softly. The Hunter peered towards his white mane at the sorceress who lounged, apparently uncaring in one of her recliners. She lifted a hand and waved him off, a nod towards the witcher's direction. He accepted it. Ciri and him brought their mess here and now he would need to clean it up.
"Let us take a walk."
Both men exited the building, the Hunter close after the witcher, who moved with brusque determination. The sun had risen higher and the streets were filling up with people, bringing with them the constant chatter and bustle that dominated the city by day.
When they turned into the main street, the Hunter noticed the malicious gazes that the man in front of him drew from the people. While he himself had been stared at, it had always been because of his height and never with such contempt. Ciri had mentioned the disgust with which the general population regarded witchers, seeing in them nothing more than gold thirsty killers and abhumans. If these people knew only what he himself had become during his ordeal through that damned city, he'd guess he'd have a lynch mob on his tail before the sun went down.
However, no one paid them any further mind as they moved through the city and towards the gates. With some anxiety, he noticed that they took almost the same route by which he had chased the duo of brigands out of town, the white haired man in front of them sparing him no word until they arrived at the building he had raided the night before. Two of the city guard stood in front with bored expressions on their faces.
The front door was in splinters, powdering the room behind in sharp pieces of wood and paint. What was left of the furniture was overturned and thrown through the room. Here and there, the dirt of the ground, the wood of the floor and the stone of the walls was painted a dark reddish brown. The bodies had been carted off.
Geralt stopped a few paces in front of the building, out of earshot for the two guards.
"When I arrived this morning, I was approached by the guardsmen at the front gate. They asked me to take a look at their crime scene. They are convinced of it to be work for a witcher." He said with a look at the Hunter.
"Yennefer told me how you and Ciri met in Velen. Your clash with mercenaries."
"I believe they seek vengeance, however misguided their efforts may be." The Hunter answered. "I intended to follow them undetected."
"Well, you surprised them certainly."
The two of them entered, after Geralt had exchanged a few words with the guards. Even though Johannes was responsible for the chaos first hand, he had not had the time to regard his work himself. To say he was surprised would be exaggeration, though he chastised himself again for his lack of caution, as well as his near loss of control. Even though the red veil had only come to him for the blink of an eye, it had been enough. The table in the middle of the room, had been cleaved clean in half, both sides covered in dried blood. One of the walls was dented and splattered crimson as well. He remembered how the skull gave in under his palm and the catharsis of seeing his opponents flee in terror.
The back door had been sturdy and had survived being unhinged nearly intact. It lay almost ten paces further down the alley behind the house. The man who had been crushed by it had been removed.
"I see why the city guard thinks that this is the work of a monster." Geralt said as he stepped around an overturned bucket and cast his gaze down the alley. A large spot at the corner was still wet. The place where the Hunter had released the young man, who had been called Emer from his suffering. His death had been sloppy, which Johannes regretted. None of the others had suffered long, their deaths quick and while brutal, as painless as possible.
"Two have gotten away. They exited through the north gate. I lost them in a crowd and could only track them to the stream outside of the city."
His shoulders sagged and he let out a deep sigh, eyes cast down at another pool of blood where a decapitated corpse had been lying a few hours before.
"What a poor first impression this must be."
"I had worse." The witcher answered gruffly, but without particular malice. He and the Hunter locked eyes.
"Yennefer says that Ciri trusts you. She herself has not made up her mind about you. I don't trust you. You'll have to earn that. Now, I have seen what men can do to each other and I have seen what monsters can do to men."
He stepped closer, his yellow cat eyes cutting through the Hunter's greys.
"This is not the work of a man, Hunter." He pressed the last word from his mouth, challenging an answer from Johannes, who only stared back, before straightening his back again. Geralt's eyes narrowed as the Hunter's steeled and became cold and sharp.
"It is a Hunter's work. I leave it to you to see me as a man, or a monster. It's wholly the same to me."
If stares could start fires, both men would be ablaze in flame. They stood there for a long moment, regarding each other like two beasts of prey, while the shadows shortened in the morning sun.
It was a moment that Dandelion would most likely would let himself almost get killed again to witness, Geralt thought. His own trials tended to humble himself occasionally, either due to failure or consequence, yet he was fully aware of his very sharp sword hand and his keen instincts. The witcher abilities not counted.
When he had stepped foot on the scene of the massacre first, earlier that day, he would have sworn that this had been done by an eldritch horror, such as a vampire or any of the more obscure dangers that rarely prowled the land. However, he had quickly discarded the notion, as these mighty beings almost never used weapons, and a blade had surely been at work here. Yennefer had informed him then, upon his arrival and after a quick, but intimate greeting, that Ciri had brought with her a peculiar man. A pale young man of impressive height and a dark intrigue which she could not resist to not pry on. As she was fairly certain he would not explain himself, she had used some of her… more advanced techniques to draw more clues out of him.
He had groaned when he learned that she had drugged the stranger.
"Well, you could have told me!?" Ciri said, her brow furrowed in irritation. Yennefer sat across from her, her legs crossed and hands in her lap. The sorceress sighed.
"Would you have approved?" She asked.
"I - no, I don't think so. We could have simply asked him."
Yennefer shook her head. "I have prodded once. On your first day here. I first thought he stumbled, but he told me quickly that there are things he will keep secret. I felt back then, that he was now on guard and I knew that further questions might irritate him."
"So you did the morally right thing and gave him drugs to break his defense?"
"He took them himself, remember? I just listened closer." Yennefer propped her chin on one hand, observing Ciri closely.
"I thought we'd help. I did not concur to spy on his mind?"
"Sure. We all know. So you can wash your hands in innocence, but I do not trust this man. How could I, with such a dead radiance?"
"What's that supposed to mean, now?" The young woman grew inpatient now. Yennefer's explanation so far had been spotty and unhelpful.
"I'm a sorceress, Ciri. A good one." Yennefer said with emphasis.
"I have spent decades to accustom myself to the chaos and much more time to use it rightly. I have learned and felt all kinds of magic and I remember every touch with the chaos. It's alive, Ciri."
"I know. You taught me." Ciri sighed.
"I fear it was for naught though. Because if you had managed to attune yourself, you may have felt it. If chaos is fire, this man's magic is… just… nothing. Cold air."
Both women fell silent. Yennefer had begun to speak in a tone of worry and it unnerved Ciri a bit. The older woman was known to be extraordinarily robust, as such receiving a callous reputation, so seeing her pushing through her thick skin, meant that what she said was not to be taken lightly. When it rattled Yennefer's defenses, a lesser person would be terrified.
"So, what happened? Did you see anything?"
"I don't 'see' anything during the process. I don't think anyone has ever managed more than hearing a single word from someone else's mind. It is like dipping a foot in a pond and feeling whatever's there. You can maybe gouge the water's temperature and if it's calm or still, but as I said. Reading minds is impossible to me."
"And what did you feel then?"
Yennefer was silent for a long moment, watching Ciri's boots and scratching at her thumb's nail with her index finger.
"It was… overwhelming."
The graveness of her voice was like a cold shiver down Ciri's back. She leant in further to better hear the sorceress.
"Instead of a pond, there was an ocean. Instead of the sensations, the fish and plants nibbling and caressing my feet, there was nothing. Only an immeasurable, icy depth. It is difficult to avoid allegories, so stay with me here. Does it make sense?"
"I think it does, yes. But he is not a cold man. Not at all. He can be quite comforting." Ciri answered. Though the Hunter might have seemed distant at a few occasions, he had stayed open and had even lured a laugh or two from her. When Lea's life had been threatened, he had not wasted a minute to run to her aid.
"That is what lies at the surface. An image of a man. Emotions and knowledge, right and wrong, love and hate, it all floats through the mind, dynamic and always moving. But here, it was a sea of nothing. I have never felt anything like this. But that is not all."
A haunted look washed over Yennefer's face for a fraction of a second, a blink of an eye. The white haired girl almost missed it, but when she didn't, she almost recoiled. Such a look was as unnatural for Yennefer as it was for a bird to grow hands.
"When I tried to find something in that void, anything, I went further, deeper. I shouldn't have, but curiosity had gripped me. And I found something. The little currents of humanity that were missing above, they were so far down the abyss, that I don't want to imagine the torment that made them retreat so far. Whatever it was that he went through, it must have threatened to shatter his sanity. So his mind buried itself where the world wouldn't reach it."
It was equally frightening to Ciri, as it saddened her. He had mentioned the city and he had given nods to the hell that it was. Yet she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. A well behaved, upstanding and humble man, who had fled before Rhinzweig's citizens could besiege him with thanks. To imagine that he could be so broken made her heart drop.
Yennefer continued.
"But as I tried to reach out, to gauge him at last, something…"
"What? What happened?"
"Something was down there. Like a living mountain, deep down below." Yennefer's eyes betrayed a foreign nervousness. Something that Ciri had seen before with men fresh from battle. A twitch and a stare, far beyond what the eye could see, as they peered at something in their memory. She was about to say something, when Yennefer finally finished.
"And it tried to reach back."
"You are a cunning tracker, I give you that, master witcher." Johannes said as he followed Geralt through a narrow gap in the , the beast slayer had managed to reacquire the two men's tracks after they had exited the shallow stream. Here, Johannes had lost their trail and had to turn around, defeated.
"It was clever of them to wade through water." The witcher answered. "Not the first time I've seen this though."
"I fear they may seek retribution on the people of Rhinzweig."
The witcher grunted.
"Kerren will see to it that it ain't happening. He's a capable man, even if he runs his mouth."
The Hunter nodded and for a while, they marched silently through the woods, Johannes keeping an eye out for the tracks that Geralt seemed to follow. He was disappointed at how many escaped him, though he had relatively rarely needed to track down beasts in Yharnam. If he followed them, they usually left a swath of destruction for him to keep to. That, or they fell upon him on sight.
They entered a clearing with a few gaps in the forest roof, through which stark columns of light fell on the ground. They closed in on a log in the center, where the witcher knelt down to wipe at some dirt, unearthing a footprint and a broken twig.
He stood and turned further north, where the forest thickened again.
"They went through there." The witcher said, but not continuing their trek. Johannes focused his vision in the direction where the other man had gestured to.
Something felt not right. Something further down the woods was upsetting to some primal sense in him. He had long learned to trust these obscure feelings, as they often revealed things before his primary five senses would. He sniffed the air.
"Blood."
"Yes." The witcher nodded, worry in his voice. "I recognize this place. There is a cabin further down. A friend of mine lives there. A healer."
"The two who got away were unhurt. They would have had no need to see an apothecary."
"Let's hope." The witcher said and moved. Both walked faster now, Geralt only occasionally slowing to confirm his trail. Johannes relying on his sense of smell. The scent was unmistakable and sickeningly sweet as he felt it calling. After a while, the Hunter gave up on searching the ground for evidence. He overtook the witcher and went straight forward, devouring ground as his legs carried him as fast as they could without running.
There was a scent coming off the man in front of Geralt, subtle and yet unmistakable, so foreign it was. It was a scent he'd never picked up before, of mint and sea. He pushed the thought back and followed his unlikely companion as he barrelled through the flora, straight toward the house where he knew Klara had her home.
The sweet girl had been of great help to him during his last visit in the region. When a dispute had parted the nearby village, the violence had finally escalated and brought about the demise of a young couple. Their unjust murder had summoned a spirit of hate that terrorised the village for weeks.
As a close friend to both the victims, Klara had helped him to find the killer and bring him to justice before the village elder. Weakened by this, the spirit had eventually fallen to Geralt's silver blade, but he had been wounded. Klara had taken care of him for days, nursing him to health. He had promised her a visit. A terrible premonition came to him.
He broke through the bushes after the Hunter and the house came into view. A small cabin with two rooms and a small outhouse. Flowers decorated the porch and a small fenced plot with a scarecrow housed medicinal herbs in their infancy. The curtains were shut, but to Geralt's horror, the door was ajar.
Forgoing the sword on his hip, Johannes drew his dagger and stood next to the door, listening for anything.
Geralt stepped next to him, his own knife in hand. A longsword would prove impractical in the close confines of the small home.
Without another word, they moved in. Quietly like ghosts, not a single creak or bump as they swarmed into the first room.
They found themselves in the main room, a small kitchen and a table dominating the space. There was a chair toppled over and a broken jar close to a window. Two closed a closed door led to a bedroom, which they found untouched.
"She is not here." Johannes said.
"Outside. Look for tracks."
It didn't take long before Geralt called Johannes to him. Behind the house, where a steep, sandy incline bore still marks of footprints and a heavy object being dragged. Quickly, they climbed up, back into the woods, both now following exclusively their sense of smell.
Johannes caught himself unconsciously grinding his teeth and gripping the heft of his sheathed sword harder than necessary. Something had mixed itself into the smell of blood. A foul odor, nearly a stench. Unmistakably the reek of rot.
A five minute travel through the forest brought them to the edge of the treeline, where they had clear view over a vast arrangement of fields. The flat land was framed on both sides with trees that vanished into the horizon, leaving a clear border between soil and sky.
The benevolent sunlight from above made the scenery all the more grotesque.
In the center, like in a painting, stood a cross, double the height of a grown man and with it's arms angled upwards diagonally. It had been crudely bound together with rope and the top had been crowned with nails that stuck horizontally from the main bar. Naked, bloody and beaten, her arms back over the diagonal bars and her head low, hung a woman, bound by her feet and neck against the cross. Her abdomen had been cut open, her intestines coiled around the base of the wood to the floor. A foul stench streamed at him from the vile display, overwhelming his senses.
"No." The witcher gasped and started running, Hunter close behind him.
There was no fairness to the world, Geralt knew that. Yet, naturally, inside him formed a string of curses and hateful promises. Klara had deserved nothing but happiness, yet she received a grisly death at the hand of two lunatics, who had found their way here only by chance. He knew her only for a few days, but with every kind stranger he befriended, he felt their worth pile up against the mass of undeserving monsters that hid in human skin. Losing a kind soul was a pain he would never get used to, no matter his callousness.
"No! Step back!" Johannes called out as Geralt moved to unbind the abused body of his friend. The witcher was about to ignore him, when he felt a hand on his shoulder and was janked back violently, almost losing his footing. Rage built in him, but when he locked eyes with the Hunter, he saw that there was concern. That and pain.
"Why?" He shot back, only narrowly avoiding spewing an insult.
The Hunter did not answer immediately, his eyes alternating between the white haired man and the horrible crucifix.
"It is coated in... a cursed substance." He finally said. "The stench… merely a touch is enough to send one into madness."
"What? How do you know of this?" Geralt spat. He was filled with anger now. Anger and confusion and he directed it at the man in front of him.
"It is a cross of the Healing Church. They used them to string up beasts. But it doesn't make sense. They had fallen and I have hunted their remnants almost to extinction."
"What are you talking about!?" The witcher bellowed and took hold of the Hunter's collar. "If you have anything to do with this, I swear I will-"
"Nothing of this makes sense to me either!" The Hunter snapped back. "Mere days ago I was not even from this world, so do not accuse me of this abominable crime, witcher."
Geralt released him, taking a step back. He took a deep breath. Now that he saw clearer again, he noticed that Johannes had a hand on his dagger's grip. He cursed inwardly.
"Explain yourself." He demanded.
"Let us first cut her off this cursed thing."
It took some effort to release poor Klara's corpse from the wooden cross without accidentally touching the vile wood that visibly steamed a crimson vapour that smelled of rotten flesh. When they were finished, the Hunter produced a small bottle from the inside of his coat and splashed the blasphemous construction with a liquid that the witcher noticed was petroleum.
Johannes was muttering something that Geralt could not understand. Sometimes, he thought that words sounded familiar, only to be proven wrong by a string of indecipherable nonsense. When he was finished, he fished a small box of matches from his pocket, as well as another, smaller bottle, which the witcher suspected, contained sulfuric acid.
"No need." He said flatly and stood next to the other man.
He reached out with his hand and, violently, scorching the ground around the cross, shot a white hot wave of fire. Within seconds, the cross was ablaze, the flames licking towards the sky and sparks raining down on the two battle hardened men, who stood long in front of it. Powerless and foolish was how they felt.
"You owe me an explanation." The witcher growled, not taking his eyes off the bizarre inferno in front of him.
"Yes. I do." The Hunter said, taking off his hat and dragging a hand through his hair, which was matted with sweat.
"Yennefer has explained to me that you might have come from… somewhere else."
"A separate world."
"Whatever. How then, that you recognize this shit?"
The Hunter sighed tiredly. "Before I awoke in Rhinzweig, I was in a city called Yharnam. It was already in ruins when I arrived there. People had ripped each other to shreds and were hunting themselves in the streets."
The witcher motioned him to carry on.
"The Healing Church of Yharnam had promised health for the sick and strength for the weak. Instead they created monsters. The night was always aflame. These crosses, they were used to string up the corpses of beasts."
"You are surely not mistaken? It is not just a similar cross?"
"No." The Hunter put his hat back on his head. "I will never forget this stench."
It took the cross the better part of three hours to finally collapse under its own weight and for the flames to die down enough so that they could extinguish it with water from Klara's house. For another hour, they searched for a place to bury the woman's corpse and inform the elder of the village of what had happened. The old man assured them that they would honor the grave and make a mark for it, so that it could be found. The way back was silent, as none of them felt the need, nor the urge to speak.
He did not hear Ciri, or Yennefer, or Geralt. His mind was racing, putting together thoughts and ripping them apart again, tossing them aside and starting anew. Somewhere out there was the explanation, truth that he needed to snuff out from this world, lest a fate similar to his own would surely befall these people. He did not notice the blood that seeped subtly from his palms as his nails dug into his flesh. He did not feel the strain of his teeth as they pressed down strong enough to crush bone.
Death was the only cure. When anyone had come into contact with forces beyond the stars, he would honor his title. Hunter. Killer. Monster. Who could assume the right care when he had slaughtered abominations beyond count? Beyond human understanding.
Johannes.
He could march right out the door and march towards Rhinzweig. Find this Akhorn and squeeze the information he needed out of him like from an orange. Let the wolves feed on his remains. He was the only one with a name right now. The only one he could seek for.
Johannes.
He felt neutered, harmless without a valid lead. He did not know his way around this strange world. He did not have the option of asking, or demanding. Threaten, surely, but who? Would it lead him anywhere beside a prison cell? Sweat broke from his brow and he felt his vision narrow. The blasphemous sign had affected him yet again. Only the sight and smell was enough to send him reeling back to the edge of the abyss. Oh how he had struggled to keep control of himself when they were so close to the accursed cross. The scent had tempted him, called out to him. It had screamed, the eldritch blood.
"Johannes!"
He snapped his head up, staring deep into the vibrant green eyes of Cirella. The slender face, the long lashes, the scar on her cheek that curved down towards her earlobe. A strand of ashen hair hung over her nose.
"Yes." He affirmed.
"What is going on, Johannes?" She pleaded. Who was this worry for? Him? Why? He was a Hunter of the Dream. Monsters paled in comparison to his own hunger. It tugged on him, every day, every minute. How he had ever worked up the insurmountable power to withstand the call, he would never know.
"The sickness that has befallen the city of Yharnam and destroyed it, has come here I believe."
"Could you have brought it with you?" Yennefer asked. Her eyes were two lilac feelers, prodding him and scrutinizing him with every twitch. She was not wrong. The blood cursed through his veins, but infection took more than simple contact. One had to gorge oneself on the substance to make it stick. That, or the influence of one of the uncountable eldritch abominations that lurked in the infinite expanse of the cosm. The chance was near nil, but it was a chance.
"No. I don't believe so." He said with some doubt. "The sickness spreads through thorough contact. A human would need to ingest large quantities of infected material. No other bodily fluids carry the pathogen." He rattled down the exact words he had read, back in the university of Byrgenwerth. he would pray later that they were true.
"Then how? What could bring something as dire as this, from your world to this?"
He had a hunch, but he repressed it. Too terrible it was to imagine that there was a remaining Great One from his night of the hunt, come here to haunt him again.
"I do not know." He lied. No expression on his face, only a mask of bone, muscle and skin.
"Well, Hunter." Geralt spoke up. The word was sticky with mocking. "What will we do then?"
"We?" Johannes asked, surprised. The Hunt was for him and him alone. He was damned to walk yet another nightmare, enter another meatgrinder as the man he was and come out the other end as… whatever he could still become.
"If it's to do with Akhorn and his men, I will not let you go on your own." Ciri said, a sad half smile on her lips.
"And since we know it's impossible to hold her, I will come too. Keep an eye on you, Hunter." Geralt grumbled. The slight, veiled threat did not escape the Hunter.
"If it is indeed a sickness, we might just try and-" Yennefer started, but Johannes cut her off.
"No. There can be no discussion. If I may have indeed brought this with me, then I must finish it myself. I can not accept anyone elses involvement."
"Well, I have made up my mind."
"Ciri-"
"I am coming with ya." She leaned back and crossed her arms. Her greens bored into him, daring him to further this argument. He would indulge her, standing up and glaring down at her, now double her height.
"I will not allow you to go with me."
"And who are you, to tell me where to go?" She sprang to her feet as well.
"And if I have to-" Further he didn't come as he felt a quick, sharp pain on his face. Ciri drew back her hand, shaking it at her wrist and cursing in pain.
"Sit. Down." He said. The words reverberated through Ciri's core like a church bell had been struck next to her. The air suddenly became cold.
Geralt was standing, knees bent, ready to pounce. Yennefer had taken a step back. Cirella looked up to him, something deep behind her facade of strength and stubbornness. Fear.
The man standing in front of them, had changed. Just now still bickering with Ciri, nervousness in his voice, his face had hardened. His form was a looming promise of demise, his eyes almost glowing with something that did not belong to the surface of this world. His shadow, cast by the sun through the window, stretched longer than it had the right to, framing his body in black as all three of them felt the shiver of being watched by a thousand eyes from somewhere beyond what they could see.
She sat down.
As fast as the unnatural sensations had come, they vanished again, leaving nothing but a numb and fleeting memory in the subconsciousness. As if their minds worked frantically to disassemble the experience, it left them simply shaken and confused, while the Hunter himself, worked Johannes back to the surface, straightened his trousers and sank down back on his own chair.
"If you insist…" He began, folding his hands in front of himself. "...then listen closely."
"The affliction is not from this realm, nor is it from mine. It is something beyond your,-" He motioned at Yennefer, then Ciri, then Geralt. "-or my understanding. There is only one and only one solution. Only one cure."
He paused. Though he had regained his former face, his expression was dark.
"Only an honest and thorough death."
Alright. It's 0620 in the morning here. I have not slept, because I wanted to post something. I was originally trying for 9000 words, but you'll have to be content with, like 7700 now. Hope you like it. If you have opinions, please let me know in the reviews. Questions and ideas, please PM me. I'm going to bed now.