A/N: Gotta say, I had no idea what I got myself into with this story. Thanks for the comments and likes, you all really inspired me.
ACT 0
Chapter 2:
Smoke and Fire
The morning sun crept over the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the sleepy village. Nestled at the edge of a dense forest and bordered by rolling hills, the village seemed peaceful, though the scars of recent wars and skirmishes were visible everywhere—burnt-out homes, patches of scorched earth, and the ever-present tension that hung in the air like fog.
Another day for them meant another weary list of problems to deal with. Such were the times for most people, times of war that left many despondent.
Villagers bustled about the dirt paths, their visages etched with varying expressions as they hauled wood, fetched water from the well, or prepared for another day of back-breaking toil.
Ben had been up since the rooster's irritating crow, already busy with another long list of chores. Elsa might have been the kindest person in town, but that didn't stop her from working him to the bone with her seemingly endless list of chores.
He didn't mind too much, though. After all, he had the Omnitrix—and a few helpful aliens—to handle the toughest tasks for him. He chuckled to himself, realizing that Grandpa Max might've taken issue with that if he were here.
The clattering of a hammer against metal snapped him out of his reverie. Up ahead was the blacksmith's forge, one of the few lively places in the village where the clanging of metalwork rang out day after day. Ben quickened his pace, the faint smell of burnt wood hanging in the air as he approached the yard. The forge itself was a mess—charred debris scattered about, evidence of a fire that had consumed part of it during the night.
Willis, the dwarf who ran the place, was already hard at work despite the damage. He was a familiar face to Ben by now; the two had spoken often enough thanks to Elsa's chores often leading the shapeshifter to the blacksmith's door, either for a new commission or repairing kitchen equipment.
The dwarf, with his short stature and gruff demeanor, reminded Ben so much of Azmuth—the genius who had created the Omnitrix—right down to the constant grumbling and refusal to take nonsense from anyone.
"Morning, Willis!", hollered the Omnitrix Wielder as he entered through the yard, "Need any help today?"
The dwarf glanced up from his work, his weathered face shadowed by frustration. "Hmph. Yer early, lad. Come to stick yer nose into the latest disaster?"
Ben's smile faltered as he picked up on the unusual tension in Willis' voice. Something was definitely off. The sharp-tongued blacksmith was always gruff, but today there was a bitterness that lingered in his words. "Yeah, I noticed. What happened?"
"Oh, I just fancied a bit o' warmth, so I figured why not burn the whole damn thing down, eh?" Willis growled, gesturing toward the charred remains with a sarcastic flourish. "What the fuck do ya think happened?"
Ben glanced at the smoldering rubble, trying to keep the conversation light despite the obvious frustration. "Uh... someone clearly set fire to your forge?"
The diminutive blacksmith snorted, throwing his stocky arms into the air in mock celebration. "Bravo! The village's very own genius! What gave it away, eh?"
He wiped his brow with a dirty rag, tossing it aside as his voice grew more serious. "I'll tell ye this, though. I blame the whole damned lot of 'em. They've hated me ever since I took work from the Black Ones. Doesn't matter if it's for their own good or not—they see me as a traitor, and now, they've gone and torched my livelihood. I'm ruined, I tell ya!"
Ben's frown deepened. He knew the Nilfgaardians weren't popular in the village, and anyone seen working for them—especially someone like Willis—was often treated with suspicion or worse. But something about the dwarf's words tugged at his mind. "You really think the whole village is out to get you?"
"Aye, maybe not all, but enough," Willis grumbled. "They see me forging weapons for the Black Ones, and that's enough for most to curse my name. But this… burning down my forge? No one's come forward, but I've got my suspicions. Could be any one of 'em." He shook his head, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.
Ben watched as the dwarf set down his hammer with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his grizzled beard. The forge was a wreck—charred tools, broken beams, and blackened stone scattered everywhere. Willis had built it all himself, and now it lay in ruins. True to his nature, Ben refused to sit idly by and do nothing to help.
"I mean...," Ben suggested after a beat, clutching his chin in consideration as he surveyed the wreckage, "I could help you rebuild it…"
It would take a while, and considering resources were scarce, Ben would have to heavily improvise with some aliens. Swampfire's roots for wood, maybe Lodestar could pull scrap metal from some abandoned towns. Coupled with XLR8 for speed, and it was pretty doable in an afternoon
Willis looked up, completely taken aback. "What? You?" His eyes narrowed, immediately, not buying the proposition. Words were cheap and in endless supply, especially when humans were involved. "And how exactly d'you plan to do that, lad? You barely know yer way around a hammer."
Ben smirked and absently fiddled with the Omnitrix, turning the dial as he spoke. "I've got my ways. Don't worry about the how—just trust that I'll get it done."
The dwarf raised an eyebrow, his doubts still unabated but nontheless the dwarf seemed rather intrigued. "Rebuild the whole forge, eh? And what'll it cost me?"
"Nothing," Ben chirped, shrugging with a harmless grin that spoke nothing but mischief to the dwarf.
"Consider it a favor."
Willis let out a low grunt, folding his arms. A favor was never "free" in these lands, much less from a foreigner. Truth be told, the blacksmith hardly knee anything about the boy, save that he'd appeared seemingly out of nowhere and was currently in the employ of the old innkeep. Perhaps Elsa saw something in the boy tha Willis didn't. Or perhaps the old widow couldn't resist every sob story that wandered into her tavern.
"Yer a strange one, Ben. But I won't turn down help. Not with the state I'm in."
Ben smirked and absentmindedly fiddled with the Omnitrix on his wrist. "Trust me, I've handled worse. And I've got some tricks up my sleeve."
…...
The sun had barely settled across the sky, casting long shadows through the dusty windows of the tavern as Elsa busied herself cleaning up after the previous night's rowdy patrons. She wiped down the tables, humming a quiet tune under her breath when the door creaked open. Ben, hoping to slip past unnoticed, stepped through the entrance, keeping his head low.
"Ben?" Elsa's voice cut through the stillness like a hawk's cry, halting him in his tracks. He froze mid-step, caught like a deer in headlights. Sometimes Ben wondered if his landlady was psychic, judging from how easily she could suss out information using nothing but her sharp instincts
"Morning, Elsa..." Ben muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he edged into view, his attempt at sneaking past thoroughly foiled. His eyes darted around the room, trying—and failing—to avoid the innkeeper's sharp gaze.
"It's noon, lad", pointed out the old lady, her brow furrowed in mild confusion, "and where exactly have you been?"
"I've uhhh… been around."
Elsa raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned casually against the bar, her expression one of familiar amusement. "'Around,' huh?" Her voice was laced with that knowing edge, like a mother catching her child mid-mischief.
"Funny how 'around' always seems to mean you took your sweet time gettin' back from those errands I sent you on yesterday."
Ben shifted his weight, his feet shuffling awkwardly against the worn wooden floor. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. "I got… distracted?," he offered weakly.
"'Distracted?'" she echoed, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as the innkeeper tilted her head slightly.
Ben cleared his throat, trying to sound nonchalant. "Stopped by Willis' forge… y'know, just to check on things."
Elsa let out a low, unimpressed hum, the kind that made the hairs on the back of Ben's neck stand on end. It was a look he knew all too well, one that he'd often seen on Grandpa Max's face whenever Ben had been caught up to no good in the Rustbucket.
"Ah, nasty business that was…" she finally said, her voice quiet but edged with disapproval at the news that had been on everyone's lips. White Orchard was a small village after all, news traveled fast.
She grabbed a rag and began wiping down the bar, her movements slow and deliberate. "Lucky the old dwarf made it out alive." Her brown eyes flicked up to meet Ben's, her gaze sharp. "You didn't go poking your nose in, did you?"
Ben swallowed, caught between a grin and a grimace. "Me? Poke my nose? I'd never—"
His landlady cut him off with a wry smile, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "I swear, Ben, I can't figure out if you actively seek out trouble or if trouble's just particularly fond of finding you."
Ben chuckled nervously, scratching at his chin, but her smile quickly faded. Her face grew serious, her brow furrowing as if weighed down by darker thoughts. "Word around here," she began, her voice lowering conspiratorially, "is that someone might've helped that forge to the ground. Seems it wasn't just an accident."
The sudden shift in tone seemed to unnerve the shapeshifter. The gears in his head turned rapidly, piecing together clues from context and unspoken words.
"Wait…you too? You also think someone burned it down on purpose?"
Elsa's lips pressed into a thin line, and she glanced around the tavern as if ensuring no one was eavesdropping before continuing. "I know for a fact that folk in these parts… well, they've lost too much to this cursed war. And Willis—he's worked with the Black Ones. People just don't let go of that sort of thing"
Ben's expression hardened as the weight of her words settled in. He hadn't thought about it like that. Willis working for Nilfgaard would make him a prime target for people looking to vent their rage
The old inkeeper set the rag down and sighed, her fingers rubbing at her temple. "If ya ask me, here's been enough blood spilled. But for Willis? Working for the Black Ones... made himself an easy target for those lookin' to vent their anger."
Ben leaned against the counter, brow furrowed. The more he learned about this world he was in, the more confused he became. "Wow, they really hate Nilfgaard that much?"
Elsa paused for a moment, eyeing him carefully, then shook her head with a soft chuckle.
"You really are a foreigner, aren't ya lad?". It was less a question and more of a bemused statement, born from observation.
A candid shrug was all the Omnitrix Wielder could offer in response. The first time Elsa had inquired about his origins, he'd muttered something about "not being from around here" before hurriedly changing the subject matter. Lucky for him, the innkeeper was hard pressed for help and being a foreigner hardly proved a barrier for entry.
Noticing the boy's apparent deficit in knowledge, she continued, hoping to educate the young on current affairs. "Nilfgaard's an empire from the far south; they tried to take the Northern Realms not once, not twice, but three times. They've already crushed Temeria—King Foltest was assassinated, you see. Then they took Aedirn, after their king met a similar fate"
She raised a crooked finger as she continued.
"Now, only one man stands between Nilfgaard and the rest of the North: King Radovid. He's no better though—turned on Kaedwen, absorbed their armies like a rag soaking up spilled ale. Now he's got control of Oxenfurt, while Nilfgaard holds Vizima, and both are eyeing Novigrad like dogs fightin' over a bone."
Ben's mind reeled at the information, trying to piece together the political landscape. "So… this war's basically ripping through everyone...taken everything from people here, huh?"
"Aye," Elsa replied softly, her fingers fidgeting against each other as she looked down on them, features scrunched in barely veiled despondency. "The war took a lot. Families, homes… whole lives. It's the people that fought the war- not the kings or the advisers"
She glanced out the window at the small village of White Orchard, her wizened features tinged with sadness. "Folk grieve in their own ways. Some turn bitter, others turn to drink…and some look for someone to hurt."
Elsa's gaze grew forlorn, heaving a disheartened sigh through her pursed lips. It was clear the old lady harbored her fair share of emotional scars inflicted by recent events beyond anyone's control, circumstances everyone else had found themselves. Heavy silence followed afterward,
"You know..." Ben broke the tense silence, leaning by the window as a faint smile tugged at his lips. "My Grandpa Max fought in a war once. Humans... and, well, let's just say another species. It got so bad that all either side wanted was revenge."
Elsa turned back to him, raising a confused brow, though her curiosity was clearly piqued. "Another species? You talkin' about the elves?"
"Not exactly..."
"Dwarves, then?"
Ben hesitated, then smirked. "Y'know what? Let's just call them... aliens."
"Aliens, is it?" the inkeeper chuckled dryly, her tone dripping with skepticism. "You been hittin' the Fisstech too early, lad? Thought I told ya to stay clear of that cursed stuff!"
Ben laughed, a bit nervously, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "No, no! It's true! There was this massive wedding that was supposed to bring peace between the two sides. But some folks didn't like the idea. They tried to crash it and restart the whole war. Grandpa stopped them, though. And you know what? The truce actually held."
Elsa's lips curled into a smirk, though her eyes softened at the tale. "A wedding? Stopping a war? Either you've got a wild imagination or yer a proper fool. But..." she trailed off, her gaze lingering on Ben, almost fond now, "it's nice to see someone who believes in fixing things instead of breakin' them. You don't see much of that here."
Ben shrugged, hands sinking into his pockets as he looked out the window. "I just think revenge isn't the answer. It's about trying to rebuild, right? Making things better."
Better. The word hung in the air, weighed down by the world they lived in. Elsa's heart sank a little at the thought. Was there even meaning left in "better" when it came to their lives? Everyone talked about making things better, yet nothing ever changed. All that remained was an endless cycle of broken promises, picking up the pieces and pretending there was hope for something more.
Still, there was something in the lad's voice—a simplicity, yes, but also a spark. A part of her almost wanted to... believe him. Believe in him.
Elsa's wrinkled smile returned, gentler this time. "Yer a naive one, lad. But maybe that's why you've got the heart for helpin'. Though—", her words lingered as the inkeeper shuffled off to resume her tasks by picking up a nearby broom, "if you really want to help, you should find who did it. Rebuild the forge, and the same thing might happen again if the culprit's still out there."
The shapeshifter's eyes widened, a realization dawning on him. What if he'd been looking at this all wrong? If there was a villager with an agenda, helping find him could help clear up some of the bad blood, and prevent even more of it. Of course, Ben would have to find a way to intervene if things got to hairy.
Ben was confident in his idea however; after all, he'd his fair share of mediation as the wielder of the Omnitrix. If Ben could navigate a dicey negotiation between a bunch of hotheaded Appoplexians and the ironically stubborn Lewodans, how hard would it be to talk to some regular (kinda) villagers?
Besides, the old lady was right; rebuilding the forge would just invite more trouble, especially if the perpetrator was still out there, able to strike again with a vengeance.
"Elsa, you're awesome!", exclaimed the shapeshifter as he slammed a fist into his open palm enthusiastically, " That's exactly what I need to do."
He dashed toward the door, but not before impulsively returning to envelope the old lady in an unexpected hug. She blinked in surprise, her hands awkwardly raised as if she wasn't sure what to do.
"What in the—? Strange lad," she muttered in amusement, shaking her head with a faint smile as Ben pulled away with the widest grin.
"Seriously, thanks!" Ben called over his shoulder as he hurried out. Elsa chuckled, watching him go.
"Go on, then. Be useful somewhere for a change!" she hollered after him, still shaking her head as she resumed her cleaning.
The only other question on the old inkeep's mind was what the hell "awesome" meant.
…...
The rest of the day was spent probing for information about the arsonist, as subtly as the shapeshifter could. It was by no means an easy task to accomplish; most people in White Orchard regarded Ben differently due to his perceived perception as a foreigner. Between running errands for Elsa and chatting with the villagers, he kept his ears open, but no one seemed to know—or admit—anything. He wasn't convinced the whole village had it out for Willis, but someone certainly did.
"Welp, this isn't going anywhere…"
Ben wasn't one to complain (a lot) about his circumstances, but medieval times tended to suck, especially from his 21st century perspective. Taking things like communication and electricity for granted came back to bite him in the ass, such as in cases like these. No news reports or social media meant he'd to do things the old fashioned way, which meant a lot of detective work
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Ben decided it was time to take matters into his own hands. After slipping away from the tavern, he found a quiet spot by the riverbank, out of sight.
With a quick twist of the Omnitrix dial, the familiar glow of green energy enveloped him, and in an instant, Ben's form was altered in a blinding flash of light.
His skeletal structure warped and stretched, muscle mass piling on exponentially as black claws shot from his fingertips and fangs from his teeth. His sense of vision melted away almost immediately, replaced by three gill-like nostrils located on each side of his neck, masses of orange hair coating his skin and senses.
Moments later, he was on all fours as Wildmutt, a beastly alien with the perfect set of superhuman senses to find what he was looking for.
GRRWLLLLL…..snrrrfffff……
Sniffing the air, Wildmutt caught the faint scent of ash and smoke lingering in the village air. But beneath that was something sharper, more distinct. It didn't take long to lock onto the trail, it's unique scents drawing a clear pattern in the cool evening air.
Growling under his breath, the orange furball bounded across the village under the cover of darkness, his claws digging into the earth as he followed the scent out toward the forest.
The trail led deep into the woods, far enough that even the faint noise of the village disappeared behind him. Soon, Wildmutt's nose picked up another smell: blood. He pushed forward through the underbrush, the scent growing stronger, until he came to a small clearing.
There, hunched near a shallow stream, was Napp—the village drunk and local troublemaker. He was frantically trying to wash something away, the scent of blood and burnt wood clinging to his clothes.
Curious indeed. However, before the Vulpimancer could make a move, the stream seemed to bubble in warning. Ben's hairs stood on end, his senses screaming bloody danger
Napp wasn't alone.
….…..
SPLAASSSHHHHHH
The murky water sloshed violently as its aquatic ambushers sprang from beneath the surface. They resembled corpses dredged from the bottom of a pond, sickly blue with slime and sludge oozing out of every pore alongside the acrid stench of rot.
Ben had heard of them before; Drowners, drawn by the scent of blood. With a chorus of blood curdling growls, they crept closer, hungry for fresh prey.
"GROAAARRRRRRR!!!!"
Wildmutt growled and charged into the clearing, his powerful jaws snapping at the nearest drowner. With a swift swipe of his claws, he sent one creature flying, then pounced on another, tearing it apart before it could strike.
The remaining drowners hesitated, but before they could regroup, Wildmutt lunged at them, forcing them back into the water where they slunk away. As if to establish dominance, the Vulpimancer pawed at the water, splashing in every direction as if to warn the rest never to come back.
All that was left was….
"Oh shit….ohh fuck!!!! Fuck!!! Shit!!!"
Napp, now pale and shaking, tried to make a run for it, but Wildmutt was faster. In a blink, he tackled Napp to the ground, pinning him down. With a growl, Ben deactivated the Omnitrix, shifting back to his human form. He stood over Napp, crossing his arms as he gave the man a cold stare.
"You've got some explaining to do, buddy"
Napp staggered to his feet, swaying slightly as he fumbled through his tattered clothing. Ben could tell right away—the man was drunk, the stench of ale heavy on his breath, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. His eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, gleamed with a mix of panic and defiance.
After a few moments of clumsy searching, Napp finally brandished a dull, battered knife that caught the moonlight, though it was clear he could barely hold it steady.
"I ain't got nothin' to explain to ye, freak!", stammered the culprit, his words barely coherent as he waved the knife in front of him in a threatening manner. Or at least, he tried to.
Ben sighed inwardly, rolling his eyes at the man's bravado. This wasn't even going to be a challenge. Napp was far from a threat in his current state—more of a stumbling mess than a real danger. Ben had dealt with much worse.
As Napp lunged forward in a desperate attempt to strike, the shapeshifter simply sidestepped, moving with fluid ease. It was like watching a child throwing a tantrum. Before he could even register the missed attack, Ben lashed out with a quick heel kick, driving the sole of his boot into the man's gut with just enough force to knock the wind out of him. Napp let out a wheeze as the impact sent him staggering backwards, his grip on the knife faltering.
Before he could regain his balance or even think about retaliating, Ben was already on him. The shapeshifter reached out, grabbing Napp's wrist with precision, twisting it sharply but without malice.
The knife clattered to the ground, useless. With a swift, practiced motion, Ben applied a judo trip, sweeping the man's legs out from under him and sending him crashing to the dirt.
Napp hit the ground hard, a groan escaping his lips as he lay there, momentarily stunned. Ben stood over him, arms crossed, his expression almost bored.
Easier than taking candy from a baby.
"Drop it, buddy," Ben sighed in exasperation, already getting bored from tossing around the man. "I'm really, really don't have time for this"
Napp glared, but there was fear in his eyes now. He scrambled to his knees before slinking back in terror, clutching his wounded arm as he stared at Ben, eyes blown wide as saucers.
"You... you're not human, are ye? I've seen you before...seen that green light!!! Some kind of magical fiend!! A demon!!"
Ben raised an eyebrow, clearly amused at the arsonist's outburst. Well, two could play at that game. The Omnitrix Wielder took a step forward and watched Nap recoil just as fast.
This was gonna be fun.
"What if I am?"
"I'll…I'll tell everyone!!", stammered the man, his shivering frame betraying whatever bravado he attempted to summon in his threats, "I'll tell the whole village yer a monster. They'll turn on ye just like they did Willis. And then..."
"Go ahead…tell them", Ben's response was a devil-may-care shrug, it wasn't like he'd much to loe anyways. But the bluff was enough to make Napp eat his own words.
"Wha-"
A hearty chuckle was the shapeshifter's reply, cutting him off before he could finish. Ben raised a finger as he explained, "Besides, unlike Willis…I don't have much to lose"
Napp paled as the shapeshifter lowered himself in a crouch to meet his gaze, verdant eyes glowing threateningly while the man cowered underneath the shapeshifter's looming shadow.
"See, worst thing that can happen is I'll have to leave White Orchard", Ben flashed a toothy grin, an air of confidence accompanying his every word.
"But then again…I can always come back, when no one's looking. I just snuck through the entire village without making a sound. Only this time…"
Ben poked at the man's forehead with a smirk, "I'll come back for you"
Napp's bravado crumbled like a poorly built facade, and the color drained from his face, leaving him even paler beneath the moonlight. The knife long forgotten, he crawled to his knees, eyes wide with fear and desperation.
"They'll kill me!!", His voice shook as he pleaded, his words spilling out in a panicked rush, "I'll be hanged for this!"
Ben paused, arms crossed as he looked down at the groveling man, one eyebrow raised. "Hanged? For what, exactly? Starting a fire?" He wasn't buying it, however his skepticism turned to surprise as Napp's trembling hands gripped the hem of his shirt, tugging like a man drowning in fear.
"They—the Black Ones," stammered the man, glancing around nervously as if the very mention of them might summon them from the shadows. "They'll think I'm a war criminal. They'll see what I did as sabotage… a crime against their bloody war machine"
"Didn't think of that before trying to burn Willis alive?"
"I didn't…I didn't think…I just wanted t'scare him!", explained the trembling arsonist, his tone rattling with desperation, "I'll be lucky if they don't string me up before the village gets a chance."
Ben's eyes narrowed as he studied Napp, sensing there was more to the story. "You set fire to Willis' forge just to scare him off, huh? Why? What did you think that would accomplish?"
Napp hesitated, the shame and guilt heavy on his face. "The dwarf… he's been taking coin from the Black Ones, ain't he? Profitin' off our misery while we suffer under Nilfgaard's boot. I thought—hell, I figured if I could drive him out, it'd be one less snake takin' advantage of us."
Ben snorted in disbelief, shaking his head. He reached down and yanked Napp to his feet, staring him down square in the eye, his gaze narrowed and steely.
"Profit? You really think Willis is getting rich off Nilfgaard?", Ben queried, his voice rising as he berated the man, "He's barely making enough to survive, let alone make a profit! If anything, the guy's trapped just like the rest of you!"
Napp looked down at the ground, his face contorted with frustration, but something in his posture suggested there was more than just resentment for Nilfgaard at play. Ben could sense the deeper current of animosity—one that ran against non-humans in general.
Ben sighed, folding his arms as he paced around Napp, contemplating the situation. The guy had clearly made a mess of things, but hanging him? That wouldn't solve anything, and Ben didn't relish the thought of letting the Black Ones get their way. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as a plan began to form.
"Tell you what, Napp," Ben said, finally regaining the cool in his voice. He dusted himself off, tucking a finger under a chin in thought as he paced for a second before turning back to the man.
"I've got an idea that'll keep you from swinging"
Napp's eyes lit up in hope.
"But you're gonna owe me. Big time."
….…
The next morning, the village awoke to the sound of hammering as Ben rebuilt Willis's forge—brick by brick, beam by beam. It was slow work, at least to the eyes of the villagers, but Ben was careful to slip into alien forms under the cover of night to speed things up.
By noon, the forge was fully restored, standing proud once more.
The day had stretched far enough when Willis came out to inspect the work, his eyes widening in disbelief as he surveyed the newly rebuilt forge. The craftsmanship was solid, almost better than before, and he couldn't quite hide his amazement.
"By the gods... ye actually did it, lad. The whole forge—how'd ye manage it?"
Ben shrugged casually, wiping his hands on his trousers, a modest smile playing on his lips. "I had some help."
Willis gave him a long look, his gruff exterior softening as he considered the kid in front of him. At first glance, Ben seemed like just another wandering youth, but there was something more to him—something Willis couldn't quite put his finger on.
Unlike the rest of the villagers, who either avoided him or scorned him for working with the Nilfgaardians, Ben had shown up, helped without asking for anything in return, and did what others wouldn't even attempt. At first Willis had assumed the boy was either insane or just looking for trouble, but for once the old codger was pleased to be proven wrong.
"Hmph," Willis folded his stocky arms with a stiff grunt, though the beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips. "Yer alright, lad. Or at least, better than most 'round these parts."
A sudden commotion sounded from behind the forge, seizing the dwarf's attention. Ben's grin only widened, and he jerked his head toward the noise. "C'mon, you'll want to see this."
Willis raised a brow but followed, his curiosity piqued. They rounded the corner to find a small crowd gathered, snickering and tossing comments toward the source of the disruption. There, hanging from a low tree branch, was Napp—his trousers pulled up high in a humiliating wedgie, his legs kicking helplessly as he dangled in discomfort. His face was flushed a deep crimson, more from embarrassment than exertion.
"What in the blazes-"
"Found your culprit," Ben announced with a grin, jerking a thumb toward the unfortunate man. "Turns out Napp here 'accidentally' set fire to your forge", Ben gestured with airquotes, much to the dwarf's confusion.
"Poor guy panicked and tried to hide the evidence", Ben added before turning to Napp, a knowing glint in his eye as he added, "Isn't that right, Napp?"
The arsonist struggling against his undignified position, grumbled under his breath. He cursed his luck for having encountered the shapeshifter, knowing there was nothing he could do but go along with the charade.
Either that, or face the hangman's noose.
"Aye... it was an accident," he muttered in defeat. He was never going to live this down,
Willis took in the scene, his astonishment melting into hearty laughter. He slapped Ben on the back with a grin, the tension he'd been carrying since the fire finally breaking. "Ha! I'll take it. Well, lad, ye did what the guards couldn't even manage. Yer a clever one, no doubt about it."
Ben shot the arsonist a mischievous glance before turning back to Willis, a playful glint in his eye. "And Napp here offered to help rebuild the forge! Right after he promised he'll never have another 'accident' again, didn't you?"
Napp groaned, his head hanging low in defeat. "Aye, aye... no more accidents."
The villagers laughed harder at his predicament, throwing in a few more sarcastic remarks about Napp's newfound honesty. Willis, still chuckling, looked at Ben with a mixture of suspicion and newfound respect. There was more to this kid than met the eye, that much was certain.
Ben gave Napp one last look, a wry smile curling at the edge of his lips as he turned to leave. "Remember, Napp—accidents can always happen to anyone."
Willis could've sworn Napp was paler than usual.
…...
Geralt made his way through the fading light toward Elsa's inn, his boots crunching softly against the dirt path. The familiar sight of the White Orchard him beckoned as he urged Roach forwards, ready to unwind after a rather eventful day of monster hunting and investigation that had taken him across the region
As he pushed open the door to the inn, the smell of roasted meat and stale ale washed over him, along with the low murmur of conversation. Vesemir was already seated at a table near the hearth, nursing a drink in one hand while his eyes scanned the fairly occupied tavern for activity.
Ever the vigilant one
"You're late," Vesemir grunted, though there was no real accusation in his voice. The older Witcher gave him a once-over, his face calm, but his eyes sharp.
"What happened? Ran into one of your usual misadventures? Finally found one of those creatures you've been gathering rumors about?"
Geralt grunted, brushing off the concern. "Yennefer's in Vizima."
"Ah," Vesemir said, raising an eyebrow, a hint of knowing in his voice. "That explains the look on your face."
The White Wolf and Yennefer's relationship had always been a storm—passionate, fiery, and volatile. They'd come together and fallen apart more times than he cared to count, their fates bound by destiny and a wish made long ago. Yet, for all their arguments, the distance, and the inevitable separations, there was something undeniable between them, something that kept pulling them back to each other.
Regardless, finding Yennefer had been their goal from the very start. After the battle at White Orchard, the raven sorceress was seemingly lost to them. It took slaying a Griffin for the Nilfgaardian commander to finally spill a lead on her whereabouts.
"Something wrong?", It was Geralt's turn to worry, seeing Vesemir's face darken.
"Look around," muttered the veteran, leaning in just enough to be heard. "Trouble brewing."
He nodded subtly toward a group of men at the far table—Temerian patriots, their hardened faces scanning their surroundings as if expecting an ambush. One of them was engaged in a knife game of his own, while the others whispered to each other in low murmurs
"They're on their seventh round," Vesemir said, his eyes narrowing. "Fists are starting to itch."
The younger witcher raised an eyebrow before giving the tavern a cursory glance, his face impassive as he shrugged, "Don't see any Nilfgaardians."
Vesemir shook his head with a pessimistic frown,"They'll find another foe."
As the tension began to rise, the older witcher stood up slowly, his movements deliberate. "I'm going to buy supplies for the road," he said, adjusting the strap of his pack. "Stay out of this. Just this once."
Geralt knew better than to give a response. Knowing their luck, there was no telling what situation they'd be forced into. "Witchers should be neutral", so he was told- avoid meddling in the affairs of others. But at times, it was hard to be indifferent...people were far less predictable than the monsters that roamed the continent.
….…
"What happened to the Temerian Lilies?"
Vesemir approached the counter, where Elsa was carefully mixing a pot of stew, the fragrant smell rising into the air. She held it close to her chest, one hand stirring, the other bracing the heavy pot against her body. The Witcher noticed that she looked worn, her face lined with more than just the signs of age—worry had etched its mark there too.
He placed his canteen on the counter, waiting as she glanced up.
Before Elsa could acknowledge him, a young woman at a nearby table, her face darkened by grief and frustration, slammed her mug down. "What happened to the lilies?" she queried, her tone accusatory, referring to the Temerian coat of arms Elsa had taken down from the wall behind the bar. It had been a proud symbol of their former nation's heritage, but now its absence spoke volumes.
Elsa paused from her mixing, her eyes flicking to the girl before returning to her work. "Took them down," she replied, a hint of wariness creeping into her tone. She carefully handed Vesemir his now-filled canteen, but the girl wasn't finished.
"To do what?" sneered the girl, her voice dripping with venom as she nursed her drink, "Hang a bloody golden sun there now?"
Elsa's weathered face tightened, but she answered evenly, hoping to keep some semblance of control over the girl's temper. Tensions outside were already high as is, and the tavern was a loaded power-keg waiting to be ignited.
"I can't hang the Temerian colors here anymore", Elsa pointed at the vacant spot, " Nilfgaardians come through—they'll burn the place to the ground."
The girl's anger flared, her frustration turning into something darker. She slammed her mug again, harder this time, the sound echoing across the room. "Maybe it's true, then. What they say. You Nilfgaard's whore?"
Vesemir could only stand by and watch the situation unfold, the tension building to its peak. Several . The old Witcher's expression remained stone, but his eyes narrowed as he studied the unfolding scene.
Elsa's disapproving gaze lingered on the girl as she handed Vesemir his canteen. "I'll let that pass," the innkeeper's voice remained voice low and calm, despite the pang inflicted by the girl's venom, "I know grief eats at your heart."
"Bollocks!" the woman roared, jumping to her feet, her chair scraping across the floor with a harsh screech. "You don't know shit! They hanged Annie! Dragged her out the cloisters like a dog! Said Nilfgaard's no place for superstition! That they don't fear the wrath of the gods!"
The room grew quieter as more patrons turned to watch, the air thick with tension. Vesemir's hand remained steady, though his eyes were locked on the woman.
The girl's voice wavered with emotion as she continued, "Do you? Do you fear it? If not for my sister, your child would've died choking on its bloody umbilical cord!"
Elsa's face went pale, clearly distressed. She stepped back, trying to avoid the confrontation. But the girl wasn't finished, not by a long shot. In a sudden, wild movement, she grabbed Elsa's sleeve, pulling her back toward the counter. "You owe your son's life to her! And you don't fear the gods' wrath?!"
"Let go!", the older woman pleaded frantically, amidst her feeble attempts to break the girl's surprisingly strong grip.
Without warning, the girl's hands shot up, grabbing Elsa's face in a vice-like grip with both hands. Elsa gasped, struggling against the sudden assault, her eyes wide with panic as she tried to break free.
"You don't fear it, you cunt!!!" her assailant snarled, her features twisted in grief and rage as she pulled down with a sharp grunt, violently slamming Elsa's face down onto the counter. The old woman's body went limp for a moment, her head rebounding off the hard wood with a sickening thud.
Vesemir moved to intervene, but a sharp voice rang out, cutting through the chaos.
"Hey!"
Before the old Witcher could react, a blur shot past him—a young man with brunette hair and burning verdant eyes. Ben charged into the fray, slipping behind the enraged girl with surprising speed. He hooked his arms under her armpits and yanked her back, dragging her away from Elsa's trembling form. The girl shrieked, twisting violently as she tried to claw at him, her nails scraping the air, but Ben's grip held firm.
"That's enough!" barked the brunette as he shoved her back, forcing distance between her and the counter. The girl stumbled backwards, fury still blazing in her eyes, but for the moment, she was kept at bay.
"My grandpa taught me not to fight girls," growled the shapeshifter, drawing a sneer from the girl as he added with a deathly glare, "but I'll make an exception if I have to"
From his vantage point at the table, Geralt could see even more trouble brewing. The Temerian patriots had already left their seats and were headed straight for the source of the commotion at the counter.
"What's this, then?" one of the gang, a burly man with a scar running across his jaw, sneered."You a Nilfgaardian sympathizer, boy?"
"Back off", Ben warned, his patience already wearing thin. He'd already seen red the moment he stepped in the tavern just to see his landlady get assaulted, and these assholes were hardly on his radar or his list of concerns at the moment. Right now, he needed to get a handle on his boiling rage.
"Ohhhhh, we've got a feisty one here!"
"Guess we'll have to make an example", another chimed in as the men gathered around the shapeshifter, "show everyone what happens to these Nilfgaardian traitors"
Ben turned to Elsa, the old woman barely able to stand as she leaned against the counter while clutching her bloody nose. That was all the confirmation he needed, the final straw that broke the camel's back.
"Screw it"
The shapeshifter took a step back, fist balled as he took a fighting stance before lashing out with a swift jab, catching the first man straight on the throat. Geralt raised a bemused brow, clearly just as surprised as the rest of the tavern.
Fuel met fire and the second man lunged with a yell, throwing a sloppy punch. Ben sidestepped easily, twisting the man's arm and sending him sprawling into the nearby table with a resounding crash. The second came in harder, swinging a bottle at Ben's head.
Ben ducked under the blow, delivering a sharp jab to the man's ribs before spinning around to face the fourth, who had drawn a knife. For a moment he considered damning it all to hell and just going alien on these jerks, but one look at Elsa's shivering frame made him reconsider.
"What are you idiots doing?" one of the men yelled as his compatriot went flying. Despite possessing a smaller frame than most of his opponents, Ben was leagues ahead in terms of pure technique. All that training with Gwen seemed to have finally paid lff.
Observing passively in the background, Geralt had to admit- the kid's skills weren't half bad. His movements were clunky and the Witcher's enhanced senses could pick up even clunkier footwork, partly due to the seemingly limited space leaving Ben barely any breathing room as he ducked and weaved through the seemingly endless barrage of attacks.
Four-on-one was a drag for a mutant like Geralt. For a normal human, it was a losing battle. And the White Wolf couldn't shake the feeling that for some reason, the kid was simply…holding back.
Why?
The first man recovered and grabbed Ben from behind, pinning his arms while the others advanced. The shapeshifter lashed out in response, managing to kick one of them in the knee, but the third slammed a fist into his gut, knocking the wind out of him.
As he gasped for breath, Ben's mind raced, briefly reconsidering his initial resolution to not use the Omnitrix to deal with the situation. Scar-face had already recovered, yelling at the men to hold the boy down.
Watching in fear at the back of the counter, Elsa shrieked helplessly.
It was Geralt's turn to jump into the fray. He moved in a blink, fluid as a shadow.
Except Vesemir had already beat him to the punch. The older witcher rammed his shoulder into the back of scar-face, sending him sprawling to the ground.
"Recognise this medallion?", Vesemir clutched the wolf pendant dangling from his neck and held it higher for the thugs to see, "you know what it means? Back off!"
The man holding Ben slumped immediately, too late to even notice Geralt had knocked him out. Breathing heavily, the brunette heaved the unconscious thug's dead weight off his back before staggering to his feet.
"You okay?", Geralt asked, eyeing the shapeshifter with a raised brow
Ben wheezed out a dry cough, "Heh, never better"
The White Wolf's attention snapped to the entrance of the tavern, his elite honed senses already on high alert. More trouble, in the form of reinforcements.
"They say Witchers steal young'uns…that true?"
"What'd the emperor promise you freaks? Your own land? Like he promised the elves??"
Vesemir drew his sword, as did Geralt, both of them sharing a knowing look.
If bluffing wasn't going to work, they were going to deal with this the old fashioned way. Silver for the beasts that roamed the edge of civilization, steel for men than roamed the underbelly of it.
Both for monsters.
Elsa trembled, her eyes wide with fear as she watched the Witchers cut a swath through the rest of the patriots, the tavern erupting into a frenzy of steel and blood.
"Ben, no..." she panted faintly, grabbing Ben's arm as the Omnitrix Wielder made a move to jump into the fray. Her grip was weaker than a broken reed, yet he dared not move at inch.
"People...people grieve in their own way."
Ben hesitated, looking from Elsa to the Witchers and back again. She was scared—of the fight, of the Witchers, of everything that had just happened. He finally relented, taking a breath as he glanced at Elsa, then back at the bloody spectacle unfolding before him. She was right. As much as he wanted to put an end to this madness, these men weren't the real enemy. They were just... lost.
With a heavy sigh, Ben nodded and pulled her up to a nearby stool, opting to stay by her side. Let the killers do the killing.
The fight, if one could even call it that, barely lasted a minute--the thugs were no match for the combined might of two experienced monster slayers. Vesemir sheathed his sword after wiping it down, before he approached Ben, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"Gotta say, you've got guts, lad. Chivalry, too."
Geralt, ever the pragmatist, opted to fold his hands in contrast and offer the boy a critical glance. "Stupid to go in when you're outnumbered, though."
The veteran grunted, wordlessly telling the White Wolf to drop the attitude ash wiped his blade on his sleeve before sheathing it. "He's right, y'know. Brave, but reckless. Don't make a habit of it."
"Heh…", Ben winced slightly as he nudged the bruises forming on his face, adrenaline slowly draining from his system. Maybe he needed to get some more practice in, he was slowing down. "Guess I got a little carried away."
"Can't say I recognize that unorthodox style of yours, though", Vesemir placed a hand under his chin, Where'd you learn it?"
The shapeshifter smirked, still catching his breath. "My cousin taught me."
Vesemir raised an eyebrow. "Your cousin, huh? Is she fighting in the war?"
"Thankfully not,"Ben sighed wistfully, wondering how Gwen would've handled things if she were in his place. He knew she was the better fighter, the more tactical and level headed between them. "She'd hate every part of it."
Vesemir gave a small nod of understanding. "Smart girl."
"You've done enough," Elsa croaked out, her voice thin and strained, barely masking her terror. The tavern lay in a heap of wrecked furniture, decorated by bloody gore and corpses. The remaining patrons were too terrified to even flee, taking cover under any piece of undamaged furniture they could find.
"Please...just go!"
Vesemir raised his hands in understanding, knowing how shaken she was. "Course…we'll be on our way"
Geralt gave a nod to Ben, something passing between them in that moment—understanding, perhaps. His slit amber eyes took in the unassuming boy's frame, wondering what exactly felt so…off-about the boy. Something even his sharpened senses couldn't figure out.
The Witcher gave a small nod, his tone low but firm before taking one last glance at the inkeeper as he turned back to Ben. "Take care of her," he said simply, before turning to leave with Vesemir.
As the door to the inn swung shut behind them, Ben stayed with Elsa, gently guiding her to a seat. Her frail body wracked with shivers as her face grew pallid.
"Hey", Ben said softly, his hand resting on her shoulder, guiding her attention back to him. His sleeve wasn't the cleanest thing available, but it was better than a rag. With a quick tug he ripped off a piece and daubed it on her face, wiping away at the bloody mess that smeared her wrinkled face.
"It's over, okay?"the shapeshifter assured his landlady, cupping her cheek gingerly as he tended to her injuries, "I'll handle things from here."
Elsa let out a shaky breath, unable to help herself as she leaned into him. The tavern was a mess, but his focus was on her, ensuring she wasn't lost in her own spiraling fear.
For the first time, she allowed herself to release the fear she'd been holding onto, clinging to the only bit of safety she could find
….….
Vesemir and Geralt trudged out of the tavern only to be greeted by a rather unwelcome sight: a small platoon of Black Ones waiting just outside the establishment. The White Wolf resisted the urge to roll his eyes and wondered just how much trouble he seemed to naturally attract.
"That brawl back there," he began, his voice calm but edged with a hint of dry humor. "We definitely didn't start it."
Before the soldiers could respond, something else caught Geralt's attention—a familiar scent carried on the evening wind, a faint trace of lilac and gooseberries. His Witcher senses sharpened as recognition dawned: He knew that scent all too well.
As if on cue, the soldiers parted, revealing a figure gliding toward them with the practiced grace of someone used to turning heads. Clad in a sleek black outfit, adorned with intricate details that shimmered faintly in the golden sunset, Yennefer of Vengerberg strode forward, her violet eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and measured . Her raven hair fell across her shoulders like a curtain, framing her sharp, elegant features.
"Excuses, excuses," she teased, her lips curving into a smirk as she placed both hands on her shapely hips. "You've not changed a bit, Geralt."
….…
...
..
.
TO BE CONTINUED
A/N 2: Well, that was a bit intense! Hope you guys liked it! I wanted to use this chapter to set the tone of the story going forward, especially because the world of the Witcher is completely different from any other Ben 10 crossover out there.
I wasn't joking when I said I have no idea what I got myself into; I just realized how damn complex the story of The Witcher 3 is. And this is still just th prologue according to the game!
If you're wondering, yes; Geralt and Ben will meet again. I wanted their first meeting to highlight their unique character archetypes to each other.
Next chapter will take awhile, Im still trying to figure out how Ben can meaningfully interact with the events from the game without trivializing every problem. I know we love our OP Omnitrix bearer, but I prefer crossvers have actual conficts and tension.
Responding to Reviews:
Pedro Alonso Buby Huaynay Zam: I don't know if I'll use the aliens from 5yl, maybe because I think most readers aren't familiar with them. I could be wrong tho.
kawanpiresferreira310104: Thanks, the first chapter was more of an experiment. I hope to keep readers engaged with beefier chapters.
ThatCreepyBastard88: Heh, thanks! I like weird stuff too!
Peter James Gabinete: Thanks, glad you like the story! I dunno if I would be able to feature that scene, but it sounds hilarious.
Bountyodst: Thanks for the tip. Turns out th books and the games have some useful key differences, although this crossover will be set during the events of the games. Any suggestions for changes based on the book will be appreciated.
EXCELSIOR!
