A/N: Hi there! Its been a while! A lot's happened since my last chapter release, and let's just say, life's been kinda upside-down lately. I moved to a new country, went to College, got a girlfriend (yay) and found a new job (sorta)

If you're wondering whether or not I abandoned the AOM universe, don't worry. I'm still working on it. The Dark World crossover is still a WIP, plus the Black Widow story.

This is sort of an experiment, but I've had this idea for ages now, right after I finished AOM. I've seen a ton of Ben 10 crossovers, but surprisingly none that feature The Witcher, one of my favorite fantasy worlds.

To all my Witcher Lore experts: Apologies in advance, I'm not the best when it comes to Witcher lore. I got through The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings back in my "old College" days, and till this day I haven't finished Wild Hunt. Feel free to correct me in the reviews if I get something wrong, or add any contributions you believe should exist in the story. If this gets enough traction, I might take it further, but for now this should suffice.

Anyways, enough chitchat. Onwards!

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ACT 0

Chapter 1:

Wolves and Beasts

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The fire in the tavern crackled softly, casting long, flickering shadows across the room. The air was thick with the scent of ale and roasted meat, most of the patrons slumped over their mugs, lulled to sleep or too drunk to revel through the night with the same alcohol- fueled fervor as before.

Only a few stragglers remained, a handful of guards playing several rounds of Gwent on a table while the others gathered round a single table near the hearth, where stories of monsters and myths were exchanged in hushed tones.

An older man, his face weathered by the years, leaned forward, his voice low but steady, drawing the attention of those still awake. "It was deep in the forest, near the edges of the marshes," he began, his gaze distant as if reliving the moment. His calloused hands spoke of many years as a farmhand, curled their whitened knuckles as he gripped his mug tightly before summoning the courage to continue his tale.

"I was out hunting, nothing unusual. Then I heard it. A growl—low, guttural. Thought it was a wolf at first, but... it wasn't. It had too many teeth, too many eyes."

The listeners shifted in their seats, intrigued but wary. Rumors of the supernatural flowed easily as blood flowed from its muddy corpse-ridden fields, especially in the war-torn lands of White Orchard. It kept the citizenry talking, kept them busy and distracted from the rancid stink of death and destruction that surrounded them.

"The thing came at me, fast. Huge, ugly as sin, claws like sickles. I couldn't run, barely had time to think. I knew I was dead."

He let out a hefty burp, taking a long drink from his mug, his sunken eyes unfocused and glassy as he dredged up the remaining pieces of the encounter from his hazy memory.

"Then... another one came out of nowhere!", the old man's eyes were blown like saucers, "Bigger than the first, y'see…but this one were different. Red like a fiend's eyes in the dark, with four arms and glowing green eyes. Thought I was fucked by some curse of misfortune, next thing I know the brute smashed the corpse-eater like it was nothing! Pummeled it into a pulp with those massive arms, all four of them. Didn't even stop to look at me! "

A scoff came from another at the table."A red giant with four arms? What, are you trying to outdo the old wives' tales now?".

The others chuckled in agreement. Monsters were as common as houseflies in White Orchard, but that didn't stop many from spinning up fables of their own. It didn't help that the Nilfgaardian invasion had fueled the paranoia of the commonfolk, making it easier for such tales to permeate the grapevine.

Perhaps this was only more propaganda for the Temerian insurgents, trying to unnerve their northern conquerors. Or simply, an old man who clearly had too much to drink and a wealthy imagination to boot.

The old man shook his head, taking another swig to calm his grated nerves. "Saw it as clear as I see you mongrels seated before me. I wouldn't even be here if it weren't true. My dead horse could tell you herself, if the old lass could speak"

"I've heard a lot of tall tales in my time…ever heard of monsters saving people?", interrupted one of his companions, his torn brow raised in skepticism.

"Thought so myself, yet it saved me all the same," the old man concluded, his words slurred as his countenance grew sullen. It was clear enough that the encounter had left him shaken, and no amount of ale could cure those frayed nerves.

An unfamiliar silence blanketed the group as they shared a confused look, unable to make up their minds about the story. Monsters fighting other monsters was hardly far-fetched, but monsters going out of their way to help humans was a concept so foreign it might as well be the stuff of children's games.

"Four arms, you say?" a gruff voice cut through the quiet pause like a blade, drawing the collective gazes of the men at the table.

From the far corner of the room, a figure stirred. The silver-haired newcomer, sitting alone in the shadows, set his mug down on the table with a soft thud. His golden eyes glinted in the dim light, slit pupils focused square on the man regaling his recollection of the events.

The old man looked startled, as if he'd forgotten he had an audience. "Aye, four arms. Never seen the likes of it before."

"Wait... you actually believe this shite?" another man sneered, his tone dripping with derision. It wasn't often one crossed paths with a Witcher, and rarer still for said Witcher to show interest in tavern gossip like a common wench.

Slowly, the White Wolf rose from his chair, the heavy thud of his boots resonating through the warped, half-rotten floorboards of the tavern. He moved with purpose, each step deliberate, until he reached the edge of the firelight. His face remained half-concealed in shadow as he folded his arms, leaning back against the wall with a casual air that belied the intensity in his eyes.

"Tell me more," Geralt said, voice calm but laced with quiet command. "About the creature that saved you."

The men at the table exchanged uneasy glances, none daring to speak out of turn. It was a fool's errand to interrupt a Witcher, least of all this one—the infamous Butcher of Blaviken.

The old man swallowed hard, his gaze falling to the tankard gripped tightly in his hands. After a long pause, he nodded with a hushed demeanour. "It weren't like the monsters we hear tales of. This thing... it could've squashed me like a flea, but—" his brow furrowed, struggling to find the right words, "—for some reason, it didn't."

"Hrrrmph." A low grunt was the only sound from the Witcher, his demure expression giving nothing away while his mind quietly turned over the man's words.

"I still think yer talkin' outta yer arse, old man," one of the younger men sneered, the uncomfortable silence spurring his outburst.

"Kipps, how many times have I—"

"Too many to count, you old drunk." Kipps cut him off with a dismissive wave, eyes narrowed.

"And why the fuck are we talking about this with a damn freak?"

The tavern had grown looser with drink, the harsh edge of the men's words sharpening as the ale flowed. The White Wolf barely reacted to the insult, kind of talk was as common as the stench of unwashed bodies in a place like this. He was used to it, had been since the first time someone spat the word "freak" in his direction. It was the story of his life, and now it barely registered.

It took more than forked tongues and cheap insults to break his focus. However, the devil in the details remained elusive. Geralt's brow furrowed, the flicker of interest barely visible in his gaze. "Did it speak?"

"Wh-what?" the old man stammered. The men at the table shared another look among themselves, along with hushed tones and uneasy mutterings.

Geralt waved a hand, impatience flickering in his amber eyes. "Words…did it use them? Anything to show what it wanted?"

One of the men at the table bristled, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "Oi! What's this about then, Witcher? We ain't handing out contracts if that's what you're after!"

Geralt grunted in reply, letting his gaze drift from the agitated drunk, his thoughts turning inward. It had become clear he wasn't getting any more out of this lot. He could try using Axii, but he wasn't in the mood for another tavern slugfest.

In the past few weeks, there had been whispers from all over the Countryside—creatures with otherworldly features appearing just in time to kill a beast or save a life, and then vanishing without a trace. They never seemed interested in gold or loot, never lingered to collect a reward, and sometimes, no one even saw them leave.

This wasn't the first time he'd heard reports of strange creatures intervening, fighting off monsters that had terrorized villages and travelers.

A hulking red brute with four arms…a scaly merman with a glowing lure that apparently saved a fisherman from nekkers…some of the guards had joked about the reports of bandits found tangled in webs like that of an arachnomorph, hollering about a furry blue ball of limbs that had ambushed them. The rumors had simply kept piling up, with very little to connect these events to anything other than the fact they appeared seemingly out of nowhere, springing up at the same time.

Almost as if…

The White Wolf's fingers drummed against the hilt of his sword, his thoughts darkening. There had been more of these sightings since the Wild Hunt had ridden through, the boundaries between worlds weakening. It felt like a subtle shift in the air, a new ripple in the chaos left behind.

It reminded him of the Hunt itself—beings not of this world, riding across dimensions, leaving destruction in their wake.

The puzzling aspect was that these creatures weren't hunting. They were protecting, fighting monsters.

Protecting from what? And why?

Geralt's musings inevitably drifted over to Ciri. Her powers had always attracted things from other worlds, like a beacon, pulling them in. She had managed to evade the Wild Hunt's grasp, but the balance between worlds had never fully recovered. These creatures... were they tied to her somehow? Or was this something new entirely?

Perhaps they were trying to drive Witchers out of business, silently taking their work from them. Geralt balked at the thought. He'd seen plenty of pretenders over the years, but these things—if they existed—were different. These creatures, whatever they were, seemingly had no interest in coin or fame. No contracts, no bargaining, no trace of any motive other than the act itself.

He mulled over the implications. If these creatures were doing his work, killing monsters and saving lives, what was their goal? And what did they gain? More than likely, they were sentient or at least capable of reason. Were there ulterior motives behind their actions?

His instincts told him there was more to this than mere coincidence. The Wild Hunt had taught him that.

"Where exactly did this happen?" Geralt asked, his tone sharper now, more urgent. Killing monsters was only part of the job; any Witcher worth his salt had to be one hell of a detective. Shaking out the important details from the meaningless chaff of tavern banter would suffice

The old man hesitated before blurting out, "Near the marshes, just a day's ride from here,"

Geralt nodded, his thoughts swirling with possibilities. If this "red brute" was connected to the recent surge of strange occurrences, it could be worth investigating. At the very least, he'd been working on a theory as of late. A possible connection between the newcomers and finding the trail of his lost goddaughter.

Without another word, Geralt turned and walked back to his table. He'd heard enough.

As he sat down, the familiar weight of his swords on his back reminded him that, Witcher or not, this world was changing. And whatever these creatures were, their presence wasn't just another passing curiosity. It meant something. It had to.

He took a long drink from his mug, setting it down quietly as he stared into the fire once more, a multitude of thoughts and unanswered questions swirling within the Witcher's mind. Maybe he was grasping at straws, but whatever was going on could have something to do with...her.

Regardless, something was coming, and Geralt intended to meet it head-on.

….…..

CLICK

CLICK CLICK

Ben fidgeted with the Omnitrix on his wrist, fingers idly tapping the device's faceplate out of habit.

"Error: No active channels available!"

He'd already tried every frequency he knew over the past few weeks, desperately hoping for a response—anything to connect him back to his world. But the Omnitrix remained silent, its familiar green glow offering no response to his plight.

The Omnitrix Wielder sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of uncertainty.

"Great, I'm definitely lost…again"

It hadn't taken long for Ben to realize this place was nothing like Earth. At first, he thought he might've been thrown back in time—after all, the medieval villages and sword-wielding locals seemed straight out of a history book. But no, this wasn't just a different time. It was a different reality altogether. The more he saw, the more certain he became: this wasn't home, and there was no easy way back.

His first few days had been chaotic—sticking out like a sore thumb in his bright green jacket and jeans. The first order of business had been clothing. He'd quickly swapped his modern outfit for something more subdued, blending into the drab, rough-hewn fabrics the villagers wore. The jacket, though... he kept it tucked away. It was too much of a reminder of what he was trying to find again.

Ben's second priority had been finding a place to stay. Sleeping outside? A no-go. He had quickly learned that the night was filled with monsters far worse than anything he had encountered back home. Trolls, drowners, wraiths—names that now rolled off his tongue as easily as if he had grown up with them. After a few close calls with several necrophages hoping for a quick midnight snack, Ben had learned the hard way that resting under the stars only attracted trouble. Taverns and inns became his go-to shelter, though the stench of ale and sweat wasn't something he'd ever get used to.

He'd been surviving mostly by staying on the move, keeping his head low and relying on the Omnitrix when necessary. In a twisted way, the universe had given him another chance to keep his secret and he wasn't going to screw it up. Keeping a low profile ensured he could gather information much easier, perhaps even some information about getting back home

Something the shapeshifter wasn't even sure of.

"Where's that time traveler when you need him?!", Ben wondered out loud.

At this point, he'd expect Paradox to pop out of thin air and explain just what exactly was going on. Or just explain anything at all. So far, not a peep from the eccentric time-travelling scientist. For all intents and purposes, Ben was stranded in this world.

It seemed like the universe was fond of throwing him curveballs.

….….

As the weeks went by, Ben learned more about the strange reality he was stuck in.

Monsters roamed the countryside, creatures right out of fairy tales or nightmares, and the people seemed just as hardened by the dangers around them. Even the cities felt cold and distant, filled with corruption and distrust.

It wasn't all terrible of course; there were things Ben liked about this place. For one, there was the freedom. The world might have been dangerous, but it was also vast. Endless forests, towering mountains, ancient ruins—it was the kind of landscape that gave him a sense of adventure.

Ben was a natural free spirit, and with the Omnitrix, he could take to the skies as Jetray or speed through the wilderness as XLR8. Even with the looming threat of monsters, the untamed beauty of the land could fill him with awe at times.

Naturally, the Omnitrix Wielder often missed the comforts of the 21st century. Simple things like electricity or running water (or even luxuries like video-games and chilli fries), however it felt almost refreshing when he could fly out in the open, without worrying about his celebrity status like he did back home.

Being a city boy all his life, he'd taken the simple things for granted. Ben could at least appreciate his Grandpa's love for camping and strange obsession with survivalist living, there was a certain type of charm to it.

But there was a darkness here that gnawed at him, a sense that the world was broken in a way he couldn't fix. The people were jaded, cynical, and survival came at a cost.

His natural response was to try and help, save as many lives as he could. Regardless of wherever he was, Ben was a Tennyson. Being a hero was practically encoded in the very structure of his DNA.

People were constantly afraid, the cruel hand of death holding the land in its suffocating grip. For every villager he saved, dozens burned in villages raided by bandits, or swung lifelessly from trees after being "sentenced" for their "crimes". Rumors of some northern nation marching across the land and taking territory, of unspeakable horrors dancing across the edge of their reality.

And there he was, in the thick of it, barely able to make a dent in it. Not for the lack of trying, the bags under his eyes could testify. Maybe that was why he couldn't figure out how to leave this world; he'd become obsessed with fixing it.

"Maybe I'm stuck here for good," he thought, the weight of the realization settling in as he glanced out the narrow window, the blossoming flowers of White Orchard stretching out into the distance. He could see landscape drifting into depressing sights of battlefields littered with festering corpses and settlements still smoldering from raids.

"Ben!?"

His head snapped up, the familiar voice pulling him out of his thoughts. He recognized it immediately as he jumped to his feet, hollering at the top of his lungs

"Coming, Elsa!"

Elsa, the old tavern keeper, had been kind enough to give him a place to stay and work, though she never asked much about his past. That suited Ben fine—less explaining to do. The tavern provided shelter and in return, Ben worked odd jobs, helping out around the place when he wasn't investigating strange occurrences or fighting off the occasional bandit. It also served as a good base of operations for him to lay low or gather intel from the gossiping patrons, their wagging tongues loosened by strong drink

As he descended, the smell of stew and the faint crackle of the fire greeted him. Elsa was already bustling around the tavern, tidying up after a long night of patrons.

She was a tough, no-nonsense woman, but Ben had aptly learned that beneath the stern exterior, she had a kind streak. Though she certainly knew how to work him to the bone regardless of her unassuming and meek frame.

"You called?" Ben asked with a cheeky grin, leaning against the doorway as she turned to face him.

Elsa eyed him up and down, one hand on her hip, the other holding a rag. "Took you long enough, lad. You're not hiding up there again, are you?"

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, just thinking. You know how it is."

She snorted, unconvinced but not pressing further. "Well, since you've got time for thinking, I've got some chores that need doing; And if you're going to be under my roof, you better earn your keep." Her tone was firm, but Ben caught the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Wouldn't dream of shirking," Ben quipped, though he couldn't help but notice her sharp gaze lingering on his wrist, where the Omnitrix rested. He quickly lowered his sleeve to cover up the alien device, but Elsa's eyes were already narrowed with curiosity.

"What's that thing you're always fiddling with?", her tone was casually curious, but Ben could hear the underlying concern underneath the question.

"Uhhhh…what thing?", he asked dumbly.

She gave him a blank stare, clearly unimpressed by his lack of tact or subtlety."The…thing on your arm, dear. You're always awful secretive about it, I figured for some reason. Some king of magic or-"

Ben stiffened. His employer was keenly observant, as all innkeepers had to be. Learn to distinguish troublemakers when they walk in your door, learn to glean secrets from the gossip flying from unwary patrons.

The shapeshifter quickly forced a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, this? It's nothing. Just...uh, a keepsake. From home."

He cringed at how weak the explanation sounded, his explanation tapering into awkward silence.

Elsa raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "A keepsake, huh? Well, it's a strange one, that's for sure. And it's not like I've ever seen anything like it before."

Ben shifted uncomfortably, clearly the old lady wasn't buying it. "I promise, it's nothing. Just... sentimental value, you know?"

His boss gave him a long, knowing look, her lips pressing into a thin line. A few pregnant seconds passed before Elsa let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. He let out an audible sigh of relief, massaging the back of his neck awkwardly

"Lad, you need to work on your lying. I can practically see your brow twitch and your knees buckle like you were gonna wet your breeches"

Ben recoiled, his face flushing a bit as Elsa tossed the rag into the nearby bucket before fixing him with a dead-serious stare.

"If you're going to survive these lands, you'll have to get better at it", she folded her hands before waving a finger in warning, "Folk around here ain't so forgiving."

The shapeshifter blinked, surprised. "You're...not going to ask me more?"

Elsa shrugged in reply, not bothering to chase that line of inquiry. "We all have a past, Ben. And you're not the only one running from something."

Her features softened slightly as her voiced trailed off. "I've been around long enough to know when a person's got secrets, and it's none of my business to pry."

The Omnitrix Wielder could feel a pang of guilt but also a deep sense of relief. While he wasn't worried about being homeless, he'd miss the old bat quite immensely.

Ben offered her a sheepish smile, nodding in gratitude. "Thanks, Elsa. I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," she said, wiping her hands on her already-stained apron. "But that doesn't mean you get off easy. There's firewood to be gathered, and you'll need to head into the village for supplies."

Ben sighed, already feeling the ache in his bones before he even started. "Of course, there's always firewood."

Elsa smirked. "You want to eat tonight, don't you?"

Right, not only was she his landlady but was perfectly capable of starving him. Unfortunately for the boy with barely any cooking skills, no one else knew their way around stews like Elsa.

With a half-hearted groan, Ben straightened up and gave her a playful salute. "Yes, ma'am. Firewood it is."

As he headed for the door, Elsa's voice called after him once more. "And Ben?"

He turned, catching the older woman's sagely gaze. For a moment, Ben could see traces of a familiar longing across her features before disappearing just as quickly

"Take care of yourself out there", She wasn't smiling this time, her countenance grim as graves. "It's dangerous out there, even for someone like you. Especially with them Witchers and Witch Hunters and what-not prowling about"

Ben nodded curtly, understanding the weight of her words.

White Orchard was a land of farmers and simple folk, with a few small villages to boot. However recently, there were growing rumors of the Witch Hunters, Inquisitors from the religious organization had been making their rounds in nearby areas like Velen and Novigrad, "interrogating" the local populace for any signs of what they perceived as witchcraft. Any supposed "suspects" were dragged off and never heard from again.

On the other hand, Witchers were a more like medieval exterminators from what he'd heard, taking care of the all too common monster problem for a fee. More often than not, said fees could squeeze the common folk for all they were worth, assuming taxes hadn't done that already. Townsfolk often had wildly opposed views about them, but everyone agreed that they were dangerous men.

Boy, if only she knew how easily he could kick their collective butts without so much as breaking a sweat. He suppressed the urge to break into his trademark shit-eating grin and simply nodded to appreciate the old lady's concern for a young man she barely knew.

A young man with more secrets than she could possibly imagine.

"I will."

"And be careful with that firewood!", she called after him, "you're a scrawny kid- and I might not be as easy to replace as my cousin Bram's horse!"

His response was a good-natured, yet humored chuckle.

….….

The sun was setting, casting a burnt orange glow over the fields just outside White Orchard. The village was settling into a quiet rhythm, with villagers heading home after a long day of work. But one figure, leaning casually against the stone wall by the tavern, seemed entirely undisturbed by the passage of time.

He was known by many names. The Man of Glass. The Merchant of Mirrors. A demon. A god. A specter outcast by time itself. Gaunter O'Dimm stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring off into the distance as though watching something only he could see. A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Two worlds... so far apart, yet now intertwined." His voice, as smooth as silk, drifted into the cool evening air, barely more than a whisper.

His eyes flickered, sharp and knowing. He saw them both, two figures who were never meant to meet. One, a boy out of place in this grim world of monsters and war, constantly fiddling with a strange device on his wrist. Gaunter's twisted mind could feel somewhat of a kinship to him, after all he knew far too well what it felt like to be marooned, stuck in a world that could barely comprehend your existence.

There was much to unravel about this one, and his fingers itched to pull the threads. He'd set his keen eyes on the boy every since he'd been unceremoniously yanked from reality and plopped into the marshes of Temeria. Seen his many unusual and rather bizarre forms, forms that surpassed anything else in this reality. What mischief could he get up to, if any? Surprising enough, the shapeshifter was rather keen on playing the hero, choosing the path of a local vigilante.

"Full of surprises, indeed", mused the man cloaked in shadow. It had been a while since he could actually have any fun. Even he didn't know just what else the lad was capable of.

The intrigue would suffice for now.

The other, a girl with ashen hair, powerful and elusive, always running from the fate she could not escape. That one had always interested him the most, her vast untapped powers tethered by the unseen threads of fate that pulled and tugged with her every move.

"Benjamin Tennyson," O'Dimm murmured, as if savoring the name, "and Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon."

He chuckled softly, as though privy to a joke only he understood.

"Such marvelous potential for chaos. Two paths, crossing where they shouldn't. And yet… here they are, in my web." He paused, eyes glinting in the fading light. "This will be... most entertaining."

With that, Gaunter O'Dimm pushed away from the wall, his smile growing ever so slightly. "Let's see where the threads lead this time."

As he turned and disappeared into the deepening shadows, the wind seemed to carry his final words, a low, lingering echo.

"Let's see how long they can run."

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THE BEGINNING

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A/N(2)

Welp, that's what I got for now. It's not much, I know, but it's something.

Let me know if you wanna see more in the reviews. This might not be everyone's cup of tea. Especially if you're a Witcher fan with barely any knowledge of Ben 10. If things go according to plan, let's just say Ben Tennyson will change a LOT about this world, and some stories.

Got questions? Put them in the reviews, I'd love to answer them. Or just get any type of feedback, you guys are the reason I do this.

If you're new here, nice to meet you! I have a Discord, where you can talk to me personally (if you want), or share your own ideas.

For Aom fans, you might recognize that I'm using the old "Ben gets sucked into another universe" trope, as opposed to AOM. Truth is I can't think of any other way for the story to work. Besides, the world of The Witcher is no stranger to beings from other dimensions and realities crossing into their own.

Anyways, enough rambling. Till next time.

EXCELSIOR!!