The Witcher: Part XIV
Smite
Previously, on The Witcher:
Team Witcher ran into a man claiming to be Geralt. For a split second, Geralt had an identity crisis!
How will our heroes make it out of this predicament?
"How can you be Geralt of Rivia when I'm Geralt of Rivia?" said Geralt.
"This man thinks he's you," said the receptionist.
"I don't think I'm him," said Geralt. "I am Geralt of Rivia. The only one. The original."
"I'm pretty sure I'm the real Geralt," said the tall white haired American Geralt. "You're just a deluded fan."
"He's not a fan! He's the real Witcher!" said Lady Feudalism.
"If he's the Witcher, then where are his swords?" asked the American Geralt.
"I don't need swords," said Geralt. "I have magick."
"The Witcher isn't supposed to be magick!" said the American Geralt. "A Witcher is supposed to be a mutated monster hunter. Witchers carry two swords."
And the American Geralt unsheathed two swords.
"You're not the first to come here claiming to be the Witcher," said the American Geralt.
"But he IS the Witcher!" said Iorverth.
"Okay, how about this," said the American Geralt. "You and I can go into the fan club, and we'll fight a duel to the death. If you win, you get the right to call yourself the Witcher."
"I don't want to kill you," said Geralt.
"I knew it! You're scared of me, aren't you?" said the American Geralt.
"Fine then. I'll fight you," replied Geralt. So the two Geralts walked into the fan club.
"50 gp for admission into the fan club," said the receptionist as Geralt was about to walk into the fan club.
Geralt groaned and dished out 50gp and walked through the door. Lady Feudalism stroked her chin as if she had a beard and watched the receptionist carefully.
"That receptionist," said Lady Feudalism to Iorverth and Ciri, "She seemed really excited when she got that money. I'm going to investigate."
Lady Feudalism walked up to the receptionist.
"You seem to really like money," said Lady Feudalism to the receptionist.
"Yeah... I suppose I do... do you want to give me some money?" asked the receptionist.
"No. I want to see the boss of this Witcher Fan Club," replied Lady Feudalism.
"Very well," said the receptionist. "Come right this way."
And the two walked down into the basement.
Geralt and American Geralt had arrived in the fanclub battle arena. It was indoors, and a bunch of spectators had begun to gather at the grandstand.
There was a large set of swords hanging from the wall at the back.
"My sword collection," said American Geralt. He equipped two largish looking swords from the collection.
"I don't have a sword though," said Geralt.
"Choose one from my collection, then," said American Geralt.
Geralt's attention immediately gravitated towards a pure, solid gold sword at the top of the collection.
"That's the sword Smite," said American Geralt. "It was the sword used by the first Witcher, Gandalf."
"It's not a very practical weapon, is it?" asked Geralt. "Gold is too soft for battle."
"Gandalf strengthened the gold with magick, according to the legends," said American Geralt.
"I choose Smite," said Geralt.
American Geralt laughed. "Okay then. You're gonna die, but you asked for it, so who cares?"
So Geralt equipped Smite, and the two squared each other up on the battlefield.
The crowd was chanting. "GERALT! GERALT! GERALT!"
And then they ran forward and started the fight.
It was dark in the town of Cintra.
A singular cloaked figure stood in the middle of town, as dramatic music was playing. A short man with a limp walked up to the cloaked figure.
"I need you to retrieve something," said the cloaked figure.
"Retrieve what?" asked the short man.
"Near the pass between the Mountains of Death, you will find a mass of detritus. I want one cell from that mass," said the cloaked figure.
"Very well," said short man.
Geralt and American Geralt fought. Geralt had used magick to make his admittedly rather cruddy swordsmanship seem semidecent.
American Geralt thought he had the upper hand.
And then Geralt, with two swipes of Smite, cut off American Geralt's hands. Blood was spurting out of the stumps.
"Finish me," said American Geralt. "That is the honourable way."
"No. My morals do not permit it," replied Geralt.
"Then I shall commit seppuku," said American Geralt.
He reached for one of his swords, but then realised both of his hands had been cut off and therefore he could not commit seppuku.
"Damnit," he said.
Inside the basement, there was a golden statue.
"What is that?" asked Lady Feudalism.
"My boss," said the receptionist. And then the golden statue came to life.
The face turned green and morphed into a familiar sight that Lady Feudalism knew all too well.
"Hello, sister," said Capitalist McMoney.
"Not you again," said Lady Feudalism.
"Yes me again," said Capitalist McMoney.
"I created this establishment as a trap for your friend the Witcher," said McMoney, casually revealing his plans. "Everyone here is a capitalist slave. And now... I'm going to get them to kill you and your friends."
And at that moment, the receptionist's eyes turned red. And she attacked.
On the battleground, the crowd of Geralt fans suddenly began to pour out of the stand.
Their eyes were red. And then they attacked.
In the lobby, Ciri and Iorverth were pretty bored. And then some people came out of the fan club.
Their eyes were red. And then they attacked.
TO BE CONTINUED
IN
THE WITCHER: PART XV
WALMART