How had he gotten himself into this situation?
Geralt hadn't the faintest.
Tied over a sizzling fire, flames threatening to blister his reddened skin.
The three Crones had succeeded in overpowering him, and his signs had been of little help in that fight.
No, his signs had been no help; his situation was proof enough.
They had dragged him down into their cave beneath the Ancient Oak; skulls and bones scattered on the crimson ground like grotesque decorations.
"Should've waited for Ciri," Geralt groaned to himself.
So, this was how it would finally end.
The monster hunter killed by monsters in what appeared to be some sort of offering ritual to Melitele.
Surely not the same Melitele Nenneke was worshipping.
Roasting people, even mutants, over an open fire after seasoning them with what smelled like rosemary and berbercane fruit seemed a bit excessive for the goddess of love and fertility.
But maybe Geralt had it all wrong; he wasn't the religious type, after all.
Ironic, really... for him to die in the name of a goddess he didn't give a shit about. Not that it mattered which otherworldly being he was offered to, for he didn't care about any of them.
Fuck, he would have preferred to die with a blade in his hand.
The three hideous figures had been chanting incantations in their skin-curling voices for what felt like ages.
Dying would prove to be tedious business, it seemed.
"If you three uglies could speed this up, I'd appreciate it," Geralt grunted, blowing a strand of burning hair out of his face.
Had Geralt still been human, he sure would feel fear by now. Thankfully the numbness inside him was almost comforting at times like these.
"Ssshut your trap, wwwitcher!" The one with the noose around her withering neck snarled, spitting into his face.
The smell would have made him vomit had the Witcher not been used to the distinct smell of ghouls and water hags.
"Should have gagged me, Ladies," Geralt replied, unimpressed.
The bang was ear-shattering.
Dimeritium Bomb seems like she paid attention to Vesemir's lectures after all, he thought, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth.
The Crones were startled for about a split-second before they sniffed the air like ravenous
beasts.
"Child of the Elder Blood! You come back willingly. Sssso ssstupid, lass!" the noose enthusiast hissed.
One look at Ciri's face was enough to tell him she was livid.
She brandished her sword, eyes glowing fiercely in the cavern's dim light.
Geralt watched her shift her weight and observed her footing, despite his eyes burning from the fire's fumes beneath him.
When she charged at the Crones, the hard gust of wind blew out the flames instantly, allowing Geralt to catch his breath.
His little swallow had gotten powerful, but watching her fight them by herself worried him.
"Ciri!" He called out when the fat one was about to jump her from behind.
The next moments passed in a blur, and for the second time today, Geralt hadn't the faintest what was happening and, more importantly, how.
How did Ciri open that portal? (Fuck, how he hated those things)
How did she summon that knight wearing what appeared to be some peculiar silvery armour through said portal?
The man appeared confused for about a second before he noticed the Crones cornering Ciri. He hissed, his voice sounding distorted through his special helmet.
"Dank Farrik!"
How the fucking hell could that knight conjure flames out of his wrist without using Igni or casting a spell?
Instead of swords, he had two— Geralt didn't know what the man was holding in his hands, but his weapons were loud, and the magic shooting out of them was violent as it cut through the three Crones mercilessly.
The one with the noose around her neck seemed to be dead already, and her slim sister was all but gone as well.
"Down, girl!" the knight yelled, not a moment too soon to save Ciri from having her head turned to mush by the fat sister.
Ciri dove between the Crone's enormous legs, cutting her open with her blade, while the knight shot another one of his magic blasts into the monster's heaving bosom.
The massive Crone hit the ground with a thud, joining her dead sisters.
His loud and fiery weapons were now aimed at Ciri; the knight stepped back to where the portal had been.
"What the Blazes—?" he began in his distorted voice.
"Sorry about that. Give me a minute, alright?" Ciri breathed, dashing over to Geralt and untying him.
"Took you sweet time," Geralt grunted as he unceremoniously landed on the dying embers. After he had rubbed the life back into his numbed arms, he looked up at her.
"You should've waited for me. You underestimated them; it could have been—" she began through gritted teeth, tossing him his armour.
"Could've, would've. I've been in worse situations, Ciri. I'm a professional."
"I somehow doubt that. Damn, I forgot how stubborn you are!" Ciri hissed back, averting her eyes from him.
Geralt knew why she was angry. She had been worried, and had the roles have been reversed, she would have gotten the scolding of a lifetime.
Ah, well… it was heart-warming, really.
"Will one of you two womp rats tell me what the kriffing hell is going on here?" The knight grunted, one of his weapons aimed at Ciri and one now at Geralt.
Maybe because Geralt was strapping his two swords to his back.
Ciri turned around towards him, an apologetic look on her face.
"It seems I have brought you into our dimension by accident. You handled yourself quite well, thank you."
"What?!" He hissed, keeping his defensive stance.
"I remember your armour, though... your people took to the skies, roaming distant planets. You are some kind of hunters, no?" Ciri continued genuine intrigue in her young eyes.
Geralt knew that look. Damn, Geralt loved that look on his not-so-little girl's face.
The knight in the peculiar armour, though, seemed only annoyed though.
"You brought me here. Now get me back. I have important business to take care of and contracts to fulfil— I have a reputation to uphold. I'm a professional, after all." The man said, turning his head towards Geralt.
"You and me both," Geralt stated, striding towards him. "Ciri, playtime's over. Get him back."
"Playtime? That's what Geralt of Rivia calls almost being sacrificed by three witches?" She gave him a pointed look.
"Ciri..."
"Fine... it's not that easy, though..." she began, knitting her brows.
"Why?" The otherworldly knight snarled.
"Because I'm still new to deliberately opening the ways. I can open one now, but that's no guarantee you'll land where you came from..." she whispered.
"You're kidding me..."
"Alas, no," Ciri replied. "I brought you here and will help you find your way back, though. It might take some time."
It dawned on Geralt instantly. The hell she would!
"No," he stated.
"Geralt! He helped us, if unwillingly so. I won't send him into another plane, not knowing it's his own! You, of all people, should know how dangerous that is."
Fuck.
"You won't go alone, though," Geralt groaned, checking his pockets.
Good, he wasn't as low on potions and oils as he had assumed.
"Kriffin' hells, I can take care of my own. I don't need a bodyguard, gramps!"
Gramps... how quaint.
Geralt eyed the man in front of him.
His armour was shining, he either wasn't in many fights, or he took good care of it. Judging from his earlier performance, it was probably the latter.
He wore a backpack made of pure metal, which seemed exceptionally impractical to store things.
Speaking of impractical things... Geralt wondered how the man could see anything through the thin and dark visor of his helmet.
The man in front of him was intriguing, to say the least.
"I'm not doing this for you but for her. You have no idea what you got yourself into, lad," Geralt grunted, not even trying to hide his contempt.
Finally, the man lowered his weapons, sighing exasperatedly. "Can't be worse than blowing up a krayt dragon while in its innards. Kriff, I didn't even get myself into anything this time! That's what I get for minding my own kriffing business. At least the kid is safe, sort of—"
The man seemed in thought for a moment, his gloved hands drumming on his weapon's hilt.
"Now, open one of those ways so that I can get back into my— dimension? Dank Farrik, I hope I didn't die, and this is some sort of afterlife punishment," the knight finally concluded.
"Alright. Do you have a name?" Ciri asked, sheathing her blade.
The knight seemed to be in thought for a moment before he spoke. "In my world, they call me Mando. It will suffice."
Ciri nodded, a smile on her lips. "Don't you want to know our names?"
"Gramps and girl aren't working for you, I take it?" he asked, and Geralt could have sworn there was a smirk underneath the man's helmet.
"You can call me Ciri, and the grumpy one is Geralt," she introduced them, earning a loud harrumph from Geralt. "Geralt doesn't enjoy chit-chat very much," she concluded.
She turned around, and Geralt could feel the prickling feeling covering his skin as she opened the portal.
Had he mentioned how much he despised those things?
Fuck.
Ciri peered inside, waving Mando to follow her.
The man gave her a curt nod, following her, his one hand resting on one of his weapons.
"Coming, Geralt? I'm sure this'll be a piece of cake. We'll be back before dinner, no doubt,"
Geralt pressed his eyes shut, one hand tightly wrapped around his steel sword while he let himself be dragged through the portal by the girl.
Maybe being offered to Melitele by the Crones would have been better because whatever happened to them after they went through that portal was surely not a piece of cake.
Dinner seemed to be cancelled for the time being.