AUTHOR'S NOTICE: Randomly disappearing is fun.

Update:

Slight changes to the chapter due to me forgetting about the fact Death Knights are not weak to fire. Thank you AdamSir for pointing that out to me.

Removed a line stating the Death Knight was blinded – another immunity pointed out to me by a reader.

P.S.: I openly welcome reviews and criticism in order to improve both this story and future works.

"_"- Speech

'_'- Inner thoughts

[_] – Tier Spells/ Skills/ Martial Arts

{_} – Signs and Magic

6th HUNT: A Helpful Hand

-from a""

Pain and exhaustion.

That was all Geralt could feel as he moved out of the way of another strike from the armored thing's sword. 'Sidestep, pirouette, cut, dodge the shield bash, repeat…' This dance had been going on for the longest time now and by this point was agonizingly familiar to the witcher. He could feel every inch of his body ache and his movements slow. Death was inching closer and closer with each trade of blows. If this had been an ordinary battle, Geralt would have backed up to regain his baring by now but the creature was relentless. The moment Geralt tried to create distance between himself and his adversary, the monster would lunge for him.

What was worse was the fact that what little blows actually got through the thing's guard either bounced off its shield and armor, more often than not chipping, or seemed to have little to no effect on the never-ending assault. Geralt couldn't even put up a sign, let alone drink a potion, lest he risk losing his head. Not that the other survivors had it better.

The creature's arrival had spelled the end of what little reason that kept those who had wanted to flee inside the hut. The bastards tripping over each other to be the first out of the window… Out of the window and into the arms of the newly arrived specters. They hadn't made it far. No matter how fast a man runs, a teleporting wraith is faster. With their escape route cut off, those in favor of fortifying their position and picking the dead from the safety of the hut, had scrambled to barricade any and all possible points of entry.

Only problem with their plan was the fact that with the armored horror's arrival, the enemy had gained what was the equivalent of a siege engine…

A single charge was all it had taken. The hut's wooden wall had stood no chance. The black creature had rushed in through the breach, zeroing in on Geralt immediately. After that everything was a blur. At some point the survivors had somehow made it outside, where the rest of the things had joined the fray.

While the witcher couldn't take in the scene of slaughter that was playing all around him, it was obvious who was winning, as the sound claws meeting flesh and the squelching of meat between teeth filled the air. Every now and then Geralt would catch a familiar tirade of swearing from somewhere amidst the pandemonium, indicating that the Baron was still alive and kicking. And judging by the distinctly annoyed growls coming for the same general direction, it seemed the former soldier was proving himself a tougher nut to crack than the living corpses thought.

The deadly dance between the witcher and the creature continued as the two repeated their respective moves a few more time. But then the knight did something new. It took several long steps back and it went completely still. 'It's up to something…' The world around Geralt disappeared, the sounds of the desperate battle for survival going on around him vanishing. His every sense was now focusing on the creature, analyzing, looking for even the smallest twitch. A slight tremble of the massive tower shield was all the warning that the witcher got before it was launched towards him. It was almost too fast for Geralt to react but by some miracle he managed to roll out of the way of the black wall, turned projectile. Now, in any other situation, the witcher would immediately spring back onto his feet, catlike, after the roll… However, winded as he was, Geralt proved a second too slow.

For a normal enemy it would have been far too short a time to capitalize on the opportunity, yet the witcher's enemy was far from ordinary. One second it was at least a dozen feet away, then a blink, and it was stepping into the witcher's guard, the stench of rot filling Geralt's nose.

Then another blink, something slamming into his chest, followed by the feeling of weightlessness, a crash… Agony… And then darkness.

yasds

He awoke in the dark, surrounded by the seemingly infinite nothingness of a vast, ocean. Geralt didn't know for how long he simply drifted through the void. Eventually the monotonous silence was broken by something. A particular noise. One he had heard before somewhere? What could it be? For some reason the witcher couldn't care less. He was tired… As if sensing his exhaustion the sound seemed to grow quieter and quieter until it couldn't be heard anymore.

The moment it disappeared something brushed along his back. Something cold. Should he be concerned? Probably but for whatever reason he was unbothered. Unfazed as the thing now firmly held him in its grip. Was it trying to drag him in? As if drawn by his question more things seemed to surface from the depths, latching onto him and pulling down. The noise from earlier returned. This time it sounded louder than before, distressed. Its return seemed to incentivize the presence from below as the downward pull intensified. The more it pulled, the clearer the sound became…

He could almost make it out now. It was… the chirping of a bird? No, he recognized it. It wasn't just any bird. A swallow.

"Ciri? Is that you?"

The words seemed to lose themselves in the void but they had an effect – the things loosened their grip on him, allowing him to float back up or rather… The moment he was free from their grasp, the haze he hadn't known was there disappeared from his mind and Geralt came to a horrible realization. When he had awoken he had though he was floating along the surface of an ocean but that had been wrong. The unnatural tiredness and the darkness had concealed his true position.

He wasn't floating but rather lying suspended in the air. The things hadn't been pulling him down but rather to somewhere out of sight. The witcher, now feeling rejuvenated, took in his surroundings once again.

A thick fog shrouded the strange place Geralt had found himself in. It was a field, one that seemed to stretch into infinity. Here and there dark rocks jutted through the fog like mountain peaks breaching the clouds. The scenery was unlike any that the witcher had seen before. It was primordial, almost unreal. A single word appeared in the witcher's mind 'Dreamlike'. Was he in a dream? More importantly how did he get there in the first place? The last thing he remembered was fighting in the swamp.

'Did that thing bring me here… No, this feels like something else.' The creature he had fought was, for a lack of a better word, a simple brute. Fighting and killing its primary objectives. This whole placed screamed someone else's work. 'But whose?'

Another question for the growing pile. However, unlike the previous ones, it seemed this one would receive an answer, as Geralt heard something in the distance. 'Yet another sound coming from somewhere I can't see. Just wonderful.' Whatever it was, it was getting closer. Soon enough the witcher could finally tell what it was. 'A flute?'

"A wonderful instrument, wouldn't you say Geralt?"

The sudden words broke Geralt out of his thoughts. It was a man's voice, one that seemed familiar for some reason, but the witcher couldn't place where he had heard it before.

"Oh come now, Geralt, did you really forget about me? And after I helped you… You wound me, witcher. Still, we men of the road should stick together. "

Those words. He had heard them before. In White Orchard. 'Don't tell me…'

"Yes, it is me Geralt."

Stepping out of the fog was none other than a smiling Gaunter O'Dimm, a merchant the witcher had met while searching for Yennefer. In fact, it was him that had pointed him the right direction. Just then, the witcher realized something. 'How are we having this conversation? I haven't spoken once.'

"Ah, words, funny little things, capable of so much. But enough about them, let's talk about you."

"What about me?"

"Well, Geralt, you seem to have a knack for getting into all sorts of messes, but this one, this one is unlike any other."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I would love to but we are a bit pressed for time. I'll give you the short version. You see, we are communicating through a form of telepathy. "

"Telepathy? So what, this place some sort of illusion to facilitate this chat?"

"No, it is merely a… side effect of my presence. You see, I have projected myself into your consciousness. Explaining the exact means to do so would take far too long so I'll spare you the details. Just know that you are experiencing time differently from your body in reality. It is a bit complicated. When you wake up in reality mere moments would have passed."

"So, I am still in the swamp with that thing, just great. I take it you pulled me in here, where time flows differently apparently, because you wanted to tell me something. So out with it."

"Now, now, no need for such hostility. I wish to aid you."

"And why would you do that?"

"Because I have need of you Geralt. And I won't stand for you to die in such a dreadful place as that bog. Now, that creature you fought… I am unfamiliar with it specifically but I know of its kind. Undead they are called. "

"Undead?"

"Long story short – they are either the body or the soul of a departed that, for one reason or another, has reanimated. The process is different for the different kinds of undead."

"There are different kinds? How is that any different from wraiths and ghosts? "

"How to best explain… The specters you are familiar with, they would be classified as a sub-class of undead. Spirits that couldn't pass into the afterlife for various reasons. The creature you fought is of another type – one created from a body."

"What do you mean?"

"That through magicks or dark rituals, a corpse, whose spirit has moved on already, can be granted an unnatural form of life. No memories of loved ones, no means to defeat it by resolving its unfinished business, no, the only way is to kill it or the one who made it."

"Wonderful. Any ideas as to how I can do that?"

"Hmm… Fire, while not as effective as it ordinary is, should still be your best bet. Could also try throwing one of these potions at it."

O'Dimm had pulled out a small bottle containing a red liquid from… somewhere on his person.

"And why should I do that? Hell, where do I even find one?"

"Undead heal by absorbing a type of dark magic that is harmful to all other beings. On the flipside that which heals the living is harmful to them. It's like a twisted mirror image if you really think about it. As to how to procure such a healing potion, well… Think fast."

"No, wait!"

Ignoring his protests, the merchant threw the little bottle at the still paralyzed witcher, who could do naught but watch as it sailed through the air towards him. Now, in any other situation it would have results in a potion-soaked Geralt, however just before the potion connected with his body, it disappeared.

"What the hell was that O'Dimm?! What did you throw it at me?"

"Apologies Geralt. It was simply the fastest way to make sure you received it."

"Receive it? It disappeared into thin air and I thought we were communicating with telepathy. Even if you gave me an item here it wouldn't-."

"No, I said that it was a form of telepathy, one that has many more uses than just conversing. You wouldn't get the complexities involved even if I explained. Now, it seems that we are just about out of time, so we'll have to continue our little chat at another time. Make sure to check your pockets, when you wake up. Good luck, Geralt."

And with that Geralt jolted awake in a familiar swamp, clutching a small bottle in his hand.

yasds

The death knight didn't know what had happened. The one it had fought should have been dead, after all its shield bash had launched him halfway through the clearing and into a wall. All the other living it had killed usually went down for good after such a hit.

Naturally, the death knight had assumed that it had finished his opponent and had decided to move on to another survivor. Considering how much its squires had thinned the herd, it didn't have a lot options. Just as the knight was about to lunge at a witch hunter that had been pushed its way, one of the zombies tore out the man's throat, leaving him choking on his blood. At this rate, the knight's only kill would have been the white haired one. It needed to choose another target fast. Maybe the fat one trying to organize a resistance or the girl and the old woman he was protecting.

Just as it had it was about to make its way towards them, something had caught its attention. Its previous opponent was slowly getting up – and most concerning, not as a squires zombie. He was still alive. The death knight took pride in its ability to execute its master's orders and yet this vermin dared to resist its fate, albeit futilely. Frankly, it was an insult to both its creator's proud name and the knight's battle prowess. It would not stand for this.

Previously, it had limited itself to match its opponents speed, it would have been boring otherwise after all, but now…now the gloves would come off. Just as it was about to give into the urge to pulverize, the white haired man charged at it. To say the undead was surprised would be an understatement. Who would ever expect someone to rush to their own death?

In the few moments it was caught off-guard, its opponent had cleared the distance between them. Some of the zombies had attempted to get in his way but that only resulted in them loosing limbs and sporting deep wounds. Recovering from its shock, the death knight rushed forward to meet the man in combat.

Having tossed its shield, it would have to rely only on its speed and skill with a blade. It was confident its foe didn't know the limits of its agility. A single burst of speed would end it all. He would just have to get a bit closer and then there would be no escape.

The two were almost upon each other now, just a few more steps and victory would be achieved. At least that's what the monster thought. Moments before it could spring into action and bisect its foe, the man did something unexpected. With an almost inaudible "I hope this works" he threw a bottle in the undead's face. It broke instantly, splashing its contents all over the rotting visage of the creature. The effect was immediate.

Wherever the bottle's liquid had touched the death knight, a searing pain appeared, making it flinch and halting its advance. Its undead nature made sure the pain was gone almost as soon as it had started but by then it was far too late.

The white haired one had wasted no time in getting into the knight's guard, dodging out the way of a desperate sword swing and sliding under the monsters legs. Before the undead could even think to turn around and skewer the pest, the man was scurrying up its back, silver blade striking at any all chinks in the armor it could find, until finally the blade found its way into a gap between the plates protecting the neck of the armored beast, piercing it. The witcher then gripped the hilt of his sword tightly and twisted.

With a crack the buried blade broke off its handle but remained firmly in necrotic tissue of the neck. A large arm came up to try and swat Geralt but the witcher had no intentions of getting off just yet. A blast of {Aard} sent the offending limb in the opposite direction. Reaching for his belt, Geralt pulled out a bottle of oil, he kept for ease of making torches. Its entirety was dumped on the blade and in the wound, seeping into the dry, dead tissue. Then all it took was a spark of {Igni} to start a blaze.

One moment the death knight was trying to swat an annoying fly, the next it was on fire. Burning, being cooked inside its own armor, it would be hell for anyone, even a fire resistant undead such a Death Knight. Such was the agony that it didn't even notice as the one responsible jumped off its back and threw down a {Yrden} to prevent it from attempting to extinguish the flames, before moving to help the others with their respective fights.

It flailed about in the magical trap for a bit before finaly slumping to the ground with a heavy thud, where it remained motionless. As if sensing the loss of their masters the living corpses froze in place, halting their assault on the survivors, who did not waste the opportunity to dispose of those closest to them and move to regroup back at the hut and clear the remaining monsters. It looked like the day had been won but…

'Something's wrong. If what O'Dimm said is true then the minions should not only have halted but outright died… Shi-'

It seemed that Geralt had underestimated the big one- seeing as it was slowly getting back up, its movement still hampered by {Yrden} but still far too fast for something caught in the magical trap. The damn thing was little more than a charred skeleton by this point, it had no right to still be alive.

"Won't you just die already?!"

Geralt wasn't one to give into despair but the situation was truly hopeless. 'No witcher's ever died in his bed huh?' He thought bitterly. 'To hell with it' A {Quen} shield appeared around his body, as he unsheathed his steel sword. This might have been the end for him but that didn't mean he was going to make it easy for the bastard. The {Yrden} trap, being the only thing keeping the monster from charging at them, fluttered out of existence and it seemed that their fate was sealed.

However, this was not to be a glorious last stand – for the creatures took a shaky step, stumbled and shattered like a glass statue, courtesy of a familiar greats word lodged in what was its back. All around them the restless corpses collapsed like puppets with their strings cut.

"Well, what did I miss?" Came the voice Momon, as the armored man strode into the clearing from the surrounding bush.